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0(1 Monthly. 


[No. 23.] 


Price 25 Cents. 


Eutered at the Post Office at New York at Second Class Rates.— Aug. 18. 1890. 




Copyrighted by George .Mnnro, 18!HJ.— By Sub.scription, $8.00 per Annum. 


The Library of 

American Authors. 


Lov.e and Jealousy. 


By Lucy Bandall Comfort, 

Author of “Ida Ciialoner’s Heart,” “Vendetta,” “Married for Money,” etc. 


^ ^ ^ 


GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 VANDEWATEK STREET, NEW YORK. 



ABANDON PHYSIC! 



IHTESTINIL TORPOR IND KIROREO EVILS 


winioiJT ]>RU€is. 


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IIF.4l/riI F4»01> 

fll Fifth Avenue, cor. Thirteenth St., New York City; Ti-eiiinnt 

St., ItoMton, lilacs. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


BY 


LUCY RANDALL COMFORT. 





OF CO/.; 


cQpyf^iGHr 

AUG 23 mo ; 

y 


NEW YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO a? Vandewatkk Stueet. 


Loi 


Entered according to Act of Congress^ in the year 1877, by 
GEORGE MUNRO, 

in the Office of the LibraiHan of Congress, IVashington, D. (X 



Love and Jealousy. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY, 


CHAPTER 1. 

’miss fame, of fame court. 

“ I CAM^T go any further! Oh, I canT! Let me sit 
down and rest a little, for the love of the Blessed Virgin!” 

The low, red sun glowed like a ball of blood in the No- 
vember sky, throwing crimson shafts of light across the 
avenue of ancient beeches, where the yellow leaves were 
raining down in a shower of perfumed gold, making a 
rustling carpet beneath the feet, and flying in fantastic 
drifts before the wind. At the rear was a porter's lodge 
of gray, lichen-covered stone, almost hidden in creeping 
vines, from which the lozenged-paned casements looked 
out like inquiring human eyes — beyond, the castellated 
towers of an old mansion were just visible through the 
trees — the towers of Fane Court, in the county of Surrey, 
dominion of England. 

And the only apparent human objects in this dreary 
autumn landscape were two- women, one old and grisly- 
looking, and bent with age, the other bowed also, and 
feeble, but not with years. The elder was yellow -visaged, 
with a multitude of thread-like wrinkles crossing and re- 
crossing one another upon her face, a white bristly stubble 
on her chin, and sharp, black eyes, as keen and restless as 
those of a rat, and her dress, of some worn quilted stuff, 
was half covered with a faded cloak of red camlet. Her 
silvery hair, loosened from the comb, and escaped from the 
border of her hood, blew to and fro in the wind, giving 


6 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


her a strange and witch-like air, and as she looked around 
her, she mumbled her toothless jaws and muttered to her- 
self, as if communing with some unseen familiar. 

The other woman leaned upon the arm of this old crone, 
a faded, feeble creature, with a pallid face, and light yel- 
low hair, already threaded with silver, although she could 
net have been more than thirty years of age. Her dress 
was plain, and scant, and shabby — in fact, her worn shoes 
scarcely interposed any protection between her feet and the 
ground, and the shawl that was crossed over her breast and 
knotted behind was tattered and thin. She might have 
been pretty once; her features were regular enough, and 
there was still a glimmer of blue fire in the sunken eyes, 
over which the eyelids drooped so heavily, but she had too 
evidently lost all womanly pride in her own appearance. 
And taking the general aspect of the pair into considera- 
tion, Mrs. Dykes, the portress, was quite justified in the 
doubt with which she regarded them from the ivy-garland- 
ed casements of the lodge. 

“ They does look precious queer,’^ muttered that 
matron, mechanically wringing her dish-cloth around and 
around, although every drop of moisture was long since 
squeezed out. And I^m moreen half sorry I let ^em in. 
But what is a body to do when folks declares, out and out, 
as they^ve got business at the Court?^^ 

And Mrs. Dykes returned to her domestic duties, still 
shaking her head in a dubious sort of way. 

“ OanT go any further!” echoed the old woman, turn- 
ing on her companion with a snarl which revealed her 
gums. “ Pauline, you haven't the sperit of a dog! A 
dog, indeed! There ain't the cur alive but would keep on 
to the end when once he's got the scent of a bone!” 

“ I'm tired! Tired to the death!” groaned the younger, 
leaning up against the gnarled and jagged trunk of one of 
the old beeches, and pushing her foot to and fro on the 
carpet of dead leaves that rustled softly beneath it. “ Go 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 7 

you on by yourself if you choose, Mother Benoit, and leave 
me here to die in peace 

With a hurried movement of her left hand Mother Benoit 
twitched a small flat bottle out of some receptacle in her 
tattered skirts, and, uncorking it with her teeth, held it to 
the pale lips of the woman she had called Pauline. 

“ Drink, ye poor, bloodless, lily-livered thing,^^ said she. 
“ Drink — and look up at yonder towers! A brave place it 
looks to be, eh? Eich gentlefolks like them, people as 
would send the likes of you and me round to the back 
door, where the dogs and the servants is, eh? And all be- 
longing to Sir Kupert Fane, Baronight! Now, will you 
come along?’ ^ 

But Pauline still lingered. Evidently the weariness 
which had overpowered her was too great to admit of even 
temporary stimulant. 

“ Come!” snarled Mother Benoit, “ or else I’ll take ye 
up and carry ye like a child! I’ve done it afore now, and 
I’ll go ^ili can again!” 

Burbefore she could put this threat into execution, a 
light footstep rustled on the dry leaves, and a tall, slight 
figure, coming around the curve in the avenue of beeches, 
was momentarily outlined against the burning November 
sky; the figure of a girl of seventeen or eighteen, dressed 
in some dark-gray stuff which fell in soft clinging folds 
around her, and wearing a hat of deep blue velvet with a 
jet buckle in its front, and a dark-blue plume drooping 
over the back. A scarf of the dull red that betokens the 
Indian loom was wrapped carelessly around her shoulders, 
and her slender feet were clad in thick and substantial 
leather boots, as if for a walk. 

All these details Mother Benoit’s rafe*li,ke eyes took in at 
a single glance, and in addition to this sh^ noted the brill- 
iant red and white complexion, the dark-brown hair curl- 
ing in rings over the ivory-pale forehead and coiled at the 
back of the head, and the large velvety-brown eyes that 


8 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


were fixed upon herself with such a surprised expression. 
Nor did she fail to observe the neatly dressed maid who 
followed a little in the background, with a plaid Scotch 
shawl wrapped around her, and a basket on her arm. 

The young lady stopped; the little attendant stopped 
also. 

“ It’s them tramps, miss, from Baddersley,” said the 
maid in a loud whisper; “ and however Dykes come to let 
’em in, 1 don’t know!” 

‘‘ Hush, Anne,” said the girl, “ the old woman is going 
to speak!” 

And Mother Benoit courtesied herself into the fore- 
ground, with the set smile and air of exaggerated humility 
that belonged to her profession. 

‘‘ God bless you, sweet lady,” croaked she, and send 
you a long life and a merry one!” 

I am much obliged to you,” said the girl, with dig- 
nity; “ but perhaps you are not aware that these are pri- 
vate grounds.” 

Ain’t this the carriage drive as leads to Fane Court, 
miss?” humbly questioned the old hag, with another suc- 
cession of courtesies. 

‘‘Yes.” 

“ And don’t Sir Rupert Fane live there?” 

“ When he is at home, he resides at the Court,” was the 
answer. 

At this response. Mother Benoit’s countenance visibly 
lowered. 

“ When he is at home?” she repeated. “ Ain’t he at 
home now, then?” 

“No; he is in London.” 

“ Lord save us!” groaned the old woman. “ Sir Rupert 
Fane in London, and me and my friend came all this way 
to get a word with him! Ah, deary me, deary me, what a 
cross-grained world this is, to be sure! On foot all the way 
from Fane’s Bridge Station!” 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


9 


The young lady fixed her soft brown eyes pityingly on 
the weird and wrinkled face. 

I can give you my father^s address in London/^ said 
she, drawing a penciled card from her pocket. “ He will 
be there some time.^' 

“ And thankee kindly, miss,^^ said the old woman, 
stretching out her withered claw to receive it. ‘‘ So 
youTe Sir Eupert^s daughter, are you? and the heiress to 
all these grand acres? God send you a long life to enjoy 
^em. Miss Fane!"^ 

Christabel Fane instinctively recoiled, the blessing was 
spoken in accents so like a curse. 

Yes, yes,^^ nodded the hag, drawing under her own 
the arm of the woman who had leaned against the tree, 
stirring the dead leaves with her foot, and never once look- 
ing up during all this dialogue. Come, Pauline, come! 
We^ve had our trouble for our pains, and weTl have to 
seek Sir Eupert elsewhere, my girl. ** 

Can not you leave a message with me?” asked Christa- 
bel, pityingly, for the old woman seemed so infirm, the 
young one so pale and feeble. 

No, Miss Fane, 1 canT,” said the woman. “ What I 
has to say to Sir Eupert can’t travel by second hand.” 

“ Had you not better go to the house and get something 
to eat?” asked Christabel, kindly. 

“No, miss, no. Time is precious, and there’s a train 
leaves Fane’s Bridge as we can catch if we steps lively,” 
muttered Mother Benoit. “ Come, Pauline, I say!” 

“ Stop a moment,” said Miss Fane, gently. “ I — I 
have not much pocket-money, but if you want a few shil- 
lings — ” 

Mother Benoit held out her hand again, a greedy light 
sparkling under her frost-white lashes. 

“ Thankee kindly, Miss Fane,” said she. “ Shillings is 
shillings, wherever they come froni; and I won’t deny as 


10 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


I’m poor as poverty itself. Come, Pauline! And a blithe 
wedding to you, Miss Fane, of Fane Court!” 

Christabel Fane looked after the pair as they trudged 
slowly down the avenue, the last bloody light of sunset 
shining on their retreating figures, and the yellow leaves 
falling around them like golden rain. 

I wonder who they are,” she said, and what they 
can possibly want with papa?” 

It’s my belief, miss, as it’s all a blind,” said the maid, 
coming close to her mistress, and lowering her voice. “ A 
put-up job! When Brickfold Farm was robbed, there was 
two respectable women come to the back door that very 
afternoon, asking for a drink of water, and all the while 
looking at the winder fastenings and door bolts! And no 
one’s safe as long as there’s tramps around!”. 

Miss Fane smiled. 

“ I don’t think they are tramps, Anne,” said she. 
“ And if they are, there’s little enough at Fane Court for 
them to steal. Come, let’s go home; the air is growing 
chill, now that the sun is down, and I don’t think we shall 
find any more autumn leaves or mosses to-night.” 

“ Miss Christabel,” suggested Anne, still discontented 
in her own mind, “ hadn’t I better borrow Dykes’s bull- 
dog?” 

“ What for?” said Miss Fane, turning around and re- 
garding her maid with large, surprised eyes. 

“ Because of the tramps, miss.” 

“ Nonsense!” said Miss Fane, brusquely. “Two poor, 
homeless creatures, that couldn’t hurt a kitten! Anne, I 
am surprised at you!” 

“ But, miss, only think of the robbery at Brickfold 
Farm!” 

To this Miss Fane made no reply, but quickened her 
pace almost to a run, while Anne Hartsuff, the maid, fol- 
lowed, muttering disconsolately to herself; 


LOVE AND JFALOUSY. 11 

“ I shouldn't wonder if we were all burned in our beds 
before to-morrow morning 

But it was a good eighth of a mile from the stone en- 
trance gates, with their moss-enameled urns and ancient 
carved inscription, to the Court itself, and the ruddy 
autumn sunset had darkened into chill purplish gray be- 
fore Christabel Fane reached the level terrace in front of 
the main entrance — a terrace where a cracked sun-dial 
yawned opposite the discolored marble basin of a waterless 
fountain, and a great walnut-tree stretched its giant 
boughs over both. 


CHAPTER II. 

FANECOUKT. 

Fane Coukt presented an imposing appearance from a 
distance, but when one came to a nearer survey the illusion 
melted away, and the beholder became painfully aware 
that it was nothing more than a ruinous old pile, on which 
the dilapidations of a series of years had plainly inscribed 
their mark. The Fanes had been a rich and prosperous 
race once, but that period was so long ago that the mists of 
obscurity seemed to have swallowed up all but its memory. 

And the evil genius of the family had been one Sir 
Alured Fane, who, in the reign of England's Sailor King, 
had deliberately gambled and squandered away the fortune 
of the Fanes, leaving his children only an empty title^ud 
a heritage of debt. From the blow Fane Court and its in- 
habitants had never recovered in the generations that fo]»> 
lowed. The males of the race were gentlemen, the females 
rarely gifted with beauty and spirit, but ill-fortune had 
doggedi their footsteps like an avenging Fate. Whatever 
enterprises they attempted turned out wretched failures — 
whatever feeble efforts they resorted to for the benefit of 
their fallen estates, only left them still deeper in debt, and 
Sir Rupert, the only child of the last baronet, had found 


19 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


himself reduced to an income which barely sufficed for the 
ordinary comforts of life when he took possession of his 
inheritance, on the death of his father in the island of 
Capri. He might, perhaps, have saved himself a great 
deal of pecuniary embarrassment, and a host of minor 
mortifications, could he have been content to let the Court, 
and live in a hired house in the little village of Taney's 
Bridge, according to the advice and entreaties of the fam- 
ily lawyer. But against this plan Sir Rupert Fane steadily 
set himself. 

“ I am an English gentleman, he had asserted, “ and 
a Fane of Fane Court. And I will never consent to lower 
myself in my own eyes, and those of the world, by desert- 
ing my a-ncestral home, and resorting to petty and degrad- 
ing economies, which were never meant for men of my 
stamp. 

And so Christabel Fane, motherless almost from her 
birth, had been brought up under the frescoed ceiling of 
moldy, half-furnished rooms, where the rats scampered in 
droves on a winter night, and great spots of mildew broke 
out like giant tears upon the furniture — brought up under 
a succession of governesses, to believe in Fane Court as a 
paradise, and the Fanes as a peculiar and exalted race. 
To be sure, they were poor, but then, as Christabel argued, 
what did that matter as long as they had enough to eat 
and drink, and a sufficiency of tolerable clothing? And it 
was not until she had reached woman’s estate, and began 
to see things through a woman’s intuitive vision, that the 
full forlornness of their condition fell upon her. 

“ We are genteel beggars,” said Christabel Fane to her- 
self. »“ Nay worse, for beggars are not expected to live up 
to any artificial standard. They are contented with their 
crust and their rags, and have no hope of anything better.” 

And the weight of this consciousness was even heavier 
than usual, as Christabel entered the old house in the 
dreary autumn twilight, not by the grand central portal — 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


13 


that was loug disused, aud the bolts were rusting peace- 
fully in their staples — but by a little side door that led 
direct into a small room which had been the boudoir of the 
dead . and buried Lady Fanes. Beyond was her father^s 
study; at the back were the servants^ offices, few in num- 
ber, but amply sufficient for the accommodation of all the 
present retainers of Fane Court, who consisted only of a 
cook, who called herself also a housekeeper, Anne, who 
was Miss Fane’s maid in particular, and girl of all work in 
general, an ancient gardener, and a rheumatic stableman 
who stayed at the Court only because they were too infirm 
to earn their salt in any other establishment. 

One by one, as the larger rooms had become uninhabit- 
able, Sir Rupert and his daughter had abandoned them, 
and moved into snugger and less pretentious quarters, 
until they had, so to speak, been brought to bay in this lit- 
tle wing of the Court. 

“ And when this falls down,” said Sir Rupert, with a 
sort of grim pleasantry, “ we shall have to transfer our 
quarters to the stable, for all that I can see!” 

Sir Rupert, as will be perceived, had reached that stage 
of philosophy at which he could joke at their discomfiture. 
Christabel, however, was less resigned. The infinite pangs, 
the numberless mortifications of poverty, weighed her 
young spirits down; she could not reconcile herself to this 
monotonous life, this perpetual famine of all that is most 
bright and pleasing in a young girl’s life. 

The room looked almost pleasant, however, in the light 
of the low, clear fire. By this illusive medium, one did 
not observe so plainly the blotched ceilings, the faded red 
of the curtains, and the worn carpet, in whose center all 
pretension to a pattern was long since obliterated. The 
marble mantel was cracked down one side, but that was 
not perceptible in the ruddy half light; the tall vases on its 
either end were mended with paste cement, but in the 
dusk they looked all but perfect. And the coarse dimity 


14 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


covering that Christabel had made for the old sofa, when 
its upholstery absolutely dropped into rags, between moths 
and antiquity, might have been white and pink damask, 
or silk brocatelle in this blessed semi-obscurity. 

Christabel Fane dropped down into a low chair, with a 
sigh, threw aside her hat, and the old India scarf which 
had been her mother^s, and resting her elbows on her 
knees, looked sadly into the fire. 

“ Oh, dear,^^ she mused, “ 1 wish we weren’t so poor. 
I shall have to economize in a thousand contemptible little 
ways, to make up the eighteenpence I gave that poor 
wretch in the park, fifteen minutes ago. And when Mrs. 
Maclaine gave me that subscription paper in the village, 
how mortifying it was to have to tell her I would consult 
with my father. ‘ But half a crown is such a small sum,’ 
she pleaded. ‘ Yes,’ I answered, ‘ but papa likes to be 
advised with even upon the smallest expenditures.’ It 
wasn’t that — it was just because I had not got the money. 
Oh, I try to be truthful, but it is just such galling poverty 
as ours that teaches a base equivocation ten degrees worse 
than lying.” And Christabel Fane bit her lip, and 
frowned at the red coals. “I declare, 1 almost envied 
Polly Stokes selling ribbons behind the village counter, 
and Mrs. Meiklewham trudging from door to door with 
her basket of lobsters. They, at least, are independent^ 
and earn their own living. They do not shrink from the 
tradespeople, and tremble when the quarterly bills come 
in! Must it always be thus? Is there no escape from this 
iron yoke of aristocratic beggary? If I could give lessons, 
or paint water-color sketches, or even write a poem that 
the magazines would pay for — but I can’t! Yes, Joan, 
what is it?” 

The old housekeeper, who had tapped at the door, now 
stood there, fingering the frill of her apron. 

“It’s Stubbs, the green-grocer, miss, please. He was 
here this afternoon, while you were out, and his compli- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


15 


ments, please, and would yon suit yourself with some other 
house in his line of business until Sir Kupert can make it 
convenient to let him have a small sum on account?’’ 

“ Very well/’ said Christabel, briefly. 

“ And the man from the Bridge as mended the roof last 
July, miss, he’s called eight times about his bill, and he’s 
up and down abusive, miss, and says them as can’t pay 
hadn’t ought to have called him in. I tol^ him Sir Rupert 
would attend to it when he returned, but he says he’s 
heard that before!” 

“ Now, then, Joan Ditchett,” interposed Anne, who 
was entering with the tea-tray, ‘‘ what’s the use of bother- 
ing Miss Christabel with them things? She can’t make a 
hair black nor white, can she?” 

“ I know that,” said Joan, with a puzzled look toward 
her young lady; “ and I wouldn’t take the liberty, only I 
promised Stubbs and Corsley to speak to Miss Fane my- 
self, since Sir Rupert was gone. And a promise is a prom- 
ise, Anne Ilartsuff!” 

“ Well, now you’ve spoke, and got it off your mind,” 
retorted Anne, “ you’d best go back to your pots and pans, 
and let Miss Christabel have her tea in peace. Here it is, 
miss, with a pot of real cream as Widow Norris left with 
humble duty.” 

The tea-cup and saucer were of exquisitely painted pale- 
blue Sevres — the little solitaire service was of chased silver 
— and as Christabel poured out her tea, she wondered 
vaguely if she could not induce her father to sell the an- 
tique silver and priceless china, and liquidate some of their 
more pressing debts. 

But Sir Rupert Fane, neglectful and unpretentious 
enough in some things, was morbidly sensitive and fastid- 
ious in others, and these heir-looms of the mother who had 
been his idol, were far too precious to be bartered for gold 
or silver, and of this poor Christabel was but too well 
aware. 


16 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


While she draiiJc her tea, and tried to eat a little of the 
thin bread and butter which accompanied it, Anne Hart- 
suff knelt down before the fire to mend it, and, with the 
inoffensive familiarity of a privileged servant, began to 
talk. 

“ The gentry from White Oaks was here this afternoon, 
while we were out, miss/^ said she, vigorously poking at 
the bars of the grate. 

“ From White Oaks?^^ repeated Christabel. 

“Yes, miss; so Diggory says — in a barouche all lined 
with cherry-colored velvet, and horses just covered with 
gold-plated harness — two ladies and a little boy.^' 

“ But why should the White Oaks people come here?^’ 
questioned Christabel, with a puzzled countenance. “ We 
have not called upon them!’^ 

“ No, miss. Anne rose up now and shook two or three 
specks of ashes from her apron into the fire. “ But they 
came to ask permission to see the old pictures in the north 
gallery, as theyM heard tell of. But Diggory made up 
some story about master having the key up in London with 
him.^^ 

“ That was very wrong, said Christabel, coloring. 
“ We do not know these rich people who have taken White 
Oaks, but 1 am very sure that papa would not grudge a 
sight of our pictures to any neighbor who asked the privi- 
lege.^^ 

“ Certain sure, miss,^’ said Anne, with a little dip of 
obeisance. “ But there^s something wrong with the roof 
of the north gallery, and the rain has found its way in, 
and the ceiling fell yesterday, all a mess of lime and plas- 
ter, miss, on the floor. And Diggory says he wasn^t going 
to have the gentry suppose the walls of Fane Court wasn^t 
all right, so he put ^em off! 1 didn’t know the man had 
so much common sense.” 

Christabel was silent. Here it was again, the galling 
yoke of Poverty! 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


17 


“ They must be very rich, miss, from all that folks 
say,^^ resumed Anne, after a few minutes of respectful 
silence. “ Their dresses and jewels is wonderful, Mrs. 
Stokes says; and they flings their money about as if it was 
so much water. And White Oaks is furnished up like it 
was the queen^s castle, and improvements going on the 
whole time. And all the money was made in the carpet 
business I Think of that, missl^^ 

“ You may remove the tray, Anne,^^ said Miss Fane, 
spiritlessly. 

“ Dear, dear, miss — and you haven’t eaten a mouthful!” 
said Anne, dolorously surveying the plate of thin bread 
and butter. 

“ I have had enough,” said Christabel. 

Anne went out, and once more Christabel Fane found 
herself alone with her own thoughts — thoughts which, in 
spite of herself, would turn toward the wealthy parvenus 
who had recently purchased White Oaks, the estate of a 
nobleman who had recently beggared himself on the turf, 
and were astonishing the neighborhood with the lavish dis- 
play of their opulence. 

They must be vulgar and low born, and common in 
their tastes,” said Christabel Fane to herself; “ and yet — 
and yet 1 envy them! Oh, why could we not have been 
rich also?” 

At the moment in which Miss Fane sat musing sorrow- 
fully before the fire. Mother Benoit and her half-torpid 
companion, Pauline, were crouching in a second-class car- 
riage on the London-bound train. 

“ I declare, Pauline,” said the old crone, refreshing her- 
self with a drink out of the pocket bottle, after it had been 
motioned impatiently away by the other, ‘‘ I don’t know 
what’s come over you of late! Just when we’re on the 
road to luck, too! You won’t have a drop? Let it alone, 
then; but there’s nothing like it for warming the blood 
and starting the spirits! Miss Fane, of Fane Court, eh? 


18 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


And she’s like her father, too. He was always a well- 
favored man if he’d only behaved as well as he looked! 
Lives at a West End hotel like a lord, too! Well, he 
always was a liberal one with his money. Let — me — see,” 
fumbling in her pocket, while her toothless jaws worked 
and twisted as if some one had placed them in an invisible 
vise, ‘ • where is the card what the bonny young lady gave 
me? Where is it, I say?” 

She jumped to her feet, and searched yet a second and a 
third time before she could convince herself that the bit of 
pasteboard was not there; and then she uttered a sound, 
half groan, half bark, that aroused even Pauline from her 
stupor. 

“ AVhat is it?” asked Pauline, looking vaguely around. 

“I’ve lost it!” said Mother Benoit, groveling on the 
floor like some extinct species of reptile, “ I’ve lost the ad- 
dress; and arter the time I took to scrape together money 
for the journey and all! I knowed good luck wa’n't on 
my track this time, but I never s ’posed Fate would serve 
me such a trick as this. ” 

And she dropped back into her seat, a mere despairing 
bag of shaking bones and tattered clothes. 

It was but too true. Mother Benoit had pulled out the 
address card at the station, with the ragged handkerchief, 
in one end of which was tied her slender stock of shillings 
and halfpence, and it had fallen unnoticed under her feet; 
and not until the train had gone did the station agent, 
issuing out of his glazed pen, and swinging a lighted lan- 
tern in his hand, perceive a slip of white paper lying on 
the floor. 

“ Halloo!” said he, picking it up and scrutinizing both 
sides of it with a keen eye. “ Sir Rupert Fane, Hotel 
Escolada, No. — Mortland Square. Some one has dropped 
this; and yet, there wasn’t none but second-class tickets 
sold to-night. Perhaps it’s some of the old gent’s creditors 
going arter him to collect their bill.” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 19 

And chuckling at his own witticism, the man dropped 
the card again and passed on. 


CHAPTER III. 

FLORINE DUFOUR. 

Of all the fashionable restaurants which had boldly 
established themselves along the frontiers of the West End 
of London, rival bidders for the favor of the fair ladies 
whose carriages rolled parkward, or turned into the wide 
thoroughfares devoted to the shopping world, that of M. 
Emile Lesdernier was at present on the top wave of popular 
favor. It was gotten up regardless of expense a la Paris- 
ian, with immense sheets of plate glass on either side of 
the gilded door, a floor of green and white tessellated mar- 
ble, and a profusion of tropical shrubs, lemon-trees, olean- 
ders, and pomegranates loaded with scarlet bells, disposed 
around, in the midst of which, as in a fairy bower, were 
set little marble tables, and through which circulated 
French waiters in paper caps and white aprons, with rose- 
buds in their button -holes. It was a bold idea on the part 
of M. Emile Lesdernier, and an expensive one, but his 
success had fully justified all his aspirations. 

“ W^'hat la pi(bliqiie wants,^^ said M. Lesdernier, reflect- 
ively, “ is novelty — la noiiveaute. I have but to supply it 
to them, and I am a rich man.^^ 

So he filled his gilded and tessellated salon with flowers, 
marked his prices well up, and erected a turquois-blue 
sign with the legend “ Jardin de Grosvenor,^^ in letters of 
frosted silver, and entered upon a career of good fortune, 
which filled the souls of his compeers with consternation 
and envy. 

At two o’clock on this particular November day — a No- 
vember day of sunshine and balmy air — the Jardin de 
Grosvenor was filled with richly attired customers, but 
toward three or four the crowd thinned somewhat, and 


20 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


later still, there was scarcely a seat occupied when Mrs. 
Adam Carruthers and her daughter, Gwyneth Vivian, 
sailed in, the former resplendent in black velvet, with dia- 
monds twinkling like stars all over her, and a violet 
plumed Paris hat fastened scientifically on the back of her 
head; the latter dressed in navy blue silk, trimmed with 
silver fox fur, which could hardly have been more expen- 
sive if it had been cut out of Bank of England notes, and 
wearing a Gainsborough hat of dark-blue velvet, with a 
bird's wing at the back. 

Mrs. Carruthers was short and plump, with rosy cheeks, 
light-blue eyes, and fiaxen tresses, like a French doll that 
had grown stout. Miss Vivian, her daughter by a former 
marriage, was tall and dark, with a high color, dark-gray 
eyes and very red lips. And, as they seated themselves, 
M. Lesdernier himself came to receive their orders. 

“ A lobster salad, please, and a cup of tea," said Mrs. 
Carruthers. “ What will you have, Gwynnie dear?" 

“ I don't know," said Gwyneth Vivian, languidly scru- 
tinizing the bill of fare, printed on superfine pearl paper, 
and bound in glistening crimson velvet. “ A pate de foie 
gras, I think, and a Neapolitan ice!" 

M. Lesdernier hurried away, and Mrs. Carruthers 
looked at her pearl-studded watch. 

“Just an hour before our train starts," said she, with a 
sigh that showed her dimpled double chin. “ And I de- 
clare I shall be glad to get down to White Oaks again after 
all the noise and confusion of the London streets!" 

“ 1 sha'n't," said Miss Gwyneth, with a toss of the 
Gainsborough hat. “ One might as well be buried alive 
as to live down there!" 

“ It's rather dull at present, to be sure," said Mrs. Car- 
ruthers, unbuttoning her primrose-colored kid gloves, 
“ because none of the country gentry have called on us; 
but as soon as we get a little society — " 

“ No," said Gwyneth, imperiously, “ they haven't called 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


21 


on us, and they vvonH! The fact that papa made his 
money in trade is quite sufficient to exclude us from the 
sacred circle of their aristocratic cliques. 

That is all nonsense, my dear,^^ said Mrs. Carruthers, 
with a disturbed face. 

“ It isnT nonsense, and you know it isnT,^^ asserted 
Gwyneth, vehemently. “ There are the people at Fane 
Court — our nearest neighbors, you know — was there ever 
anything like the supercilious impudence of the old serv- 
ant, who refused to let Gerty and me see the picture-gal- 
lery? Of course he had had his orders. And I know peo- 
ple are allowed to see the pictures on Tuesday, because 
Augusta Fieldingham told me she had been twice 

“ But, my dear, if Sir Rupert was really absent with the 
key — 

“ A likely story I'’ ^ indignantly retorted Miss Vivian. 
“ As if people generally look the keys of their picture-gal- 
leries with them when they went on journeys. No, it^s 
neither more nor less than an insult — a premeditated in- 
sult. Kerens our luncheon, mamma. Dear! how stylishly 
they do serve up dinners in this place, to be sure! And 
even those Fanes, although they are poorer than church 
mice, and over head and ears in debt — 

“ My dear Gwyneth, what very peculiar expressions!” 

“ I canT help it, and I donT care!” angrily retorted 
Miss Vivian. “ As if I were going to pick and choose my 
expressions for the benefit of Sir Rupert Fane and his 
haughty daughter ! They despise us, and 1 despise them! 
And 1 had the greatest mind in the world to tell Sir Ru- 
pert so, when he was so painfully polite at Mr. Gold- 
worthy^s dinner-party last week!” 

“ I^m sure he seemed very agreeable, my dear,” said 
Mrs. Carruthers between her sips of tea. “ And really, 1 
have been quite gratified with the opportunity of making 
his acquaintance, seeing that we are neighbors down in 
Surrey. ” 


22 


LOVE AND JKAI.OL’SY. 


“ Neighbors!'^ scornfully echoed Miss Vivian. “ Neigh- 
bors in locality, but in nothing else.^^ 

“ But Mr. Gold worthy said he had asked for an intro- 
duction — 

“ That was all a polite fiction of Mr. Goldworthy^s,"^ 
interrupted Miss Vivian. “ Mr. Gold worthy is our bank- 
er, and consequently bound to do his best to make himself 
agreeable to us.^^ 

“ And Sir Rupert has been very kind and attentive since 
our stay in London. And he told me yesterday that he 
and his daughter would do themselves the pleasure of call- 
ing on us in the course of a few days,^^ added Mrs. Car- 
ruthers. 

“ That will be the end of it, you’ll find,” said Miss 
Gwyneth, with a sarcastic elevation of the point of her 
nose. “ No, child — noV’ 

This last rather imperious negative was delivered to a 
tall girl of fifteen or sixteen, with long, yellow braids of 
hair hanging down her neck, wild, furtive eyes of so dark 
a blue that they were nearly black, and a complexion so 
sunburned that you could scarcely tell whether she were 
blonde or brunette — a girl attired in a dress of faded print, 
scant as to the skirts, and very short, with a red shawl crossed 
over the breast and knotted behind, and a tarnished red 
velvet cap, worn sideways on her head. She had contrived 
to slide into the “ Grosvenor Garden ” during the tem- 
porary absence of M. Lesdernier and his satellites, and the 
absorption of the elegantly dressed young lady cashier in 
her books, and had come up to Mrs. Oarruthers’s table, 
with a basket of coarse knitted laces and antimacassars. 

“ Buy a tidy, my lady?” said she, in the hurried, 
wheedling way usual to people of her itinerant trade. 
“ Or some lace? Lace as 1 knitted myself, and the tidies 
were made by my sick mother! Please buy, lady, buy?” 

And as the girl chattered off the parrot cry, her furtive 
dark eyes roved stealthily to and fro, now taking in the 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


23 


diamond drops that hung in Mrs. Carruthers’s ears, now 
absorbed in Gwyneth’s glistening gold chain, now lifted to 
the scarlet blossoms in the pomegranate branches overhead, 
but ever and anon returning with a sort of greedy glitter 
to the faces of the two ladies to whom she was offering her 
wares. 

“ No,” cried Gwyneth Vivian, a second time. “ I tell 
you no! We want none of your trash!” 

“ Please, oh, 'please, my lady!” reiterated the yellow- 
tressed girl. “ They’re cheap — only twopence a yard for 
the lace, and eighteenpence for the tidies. I’ve eaten 
nothing since morning, and mammy ain’t left her bed in a 
week!” 

“ I wonder where the man of the place is?” said 
Gwyneth, looking angrily around. “ It’s outrageous that 
these strolling vagabond wretches should be allowed to 
annoy one so!” 

But Mrs. Carruthers had taken out her purse — she had 
a soft human heart under her velvets and laces, and some- 
thing in the starved, eager look of the girl appealed direct 
to its inmost corner. 

“ Come here, child,” said she, extricating a coin from 
the liny sealskin purse, and holding it out in her kidded 
fingers. “ I don’t want your laces, but here’s a sixpence!” 

“ Mamma,” cried Gwyneth, flushing high with indigna- 
tion, “ you’re not going to give her anything?” 

“ Why shouldn’t I, my dear?” said Mrs. Carruthers, 
placidly. “ She looks cold and hungr}^ and I dare say her 
sad story may be true!” 

“ They’re -all impostors!” said Gwyneth, disdainfully, 
while the girl dropped a courtesy, and caught at the silver 
coin like a famished dog at a bone.” 

“ That doesn’t always follow,” said Mrs. Carruthors. 

Stop a minute, child! What is your name?” 

‘Tlorine Dufour, my lady,” she replied, with another 
mechanical courtesy. 


24 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Florine Dufour! You are French, then?^^ 

“ I was born in Paris, my lady.^^ 

How old are you?” 

“ Fifteen, my lady,” 

“ And don’t you think,” sarcastically interposed. 
Gwyneth Vivian, “ that it would be a good idea for you 
to put up that straggling yellow hair in a decent comb, 
and wear your dress skirts a little longer?” 

Florine looked sideways at Miss Vivian, while the color 
glowed out in her sun-browned cheek. 

“ I don’t know, my lady,” said she. 

“Well,” spoke out Miss Vivian, coldly, “you may go 
now. It’s a pity to cut that interesting catechism of yours 
short, mamma, but really our time is limited!” 

“ She has got a lovely face, my dear,” said Mrs. Car- 
ruthers, “ and one can not help pitying these poor waifs 
and strays of humanity. ” 

“ They’d cheat the eyes out of your head, mamma, if 
Gerty and I didn’t interfere to protect you,” asserted 
Gwyneth Vivian, arching her black eyebrows contemptu- 
ously. “ And, as I said before, they’re every one of them 
impostors! Monsieur Lesdernier,” as the proprietor of 
the Jardin de Grosvenor came bowing forward with his 
-check, “ you shouldn’t let street beggars into a place like 
this. Mamma and I have been seriously annoyed!” 

“No, my dear, 1 have not been annoyed,” said calm 
Mrs. Carruthers. “ Speak for yourself!” 

M, Lesdernier was overwhelmed with consternation at 
this hearing. It was against his most positive regulations; 
it should not occur again, if the ladies would but pardon 
this solitary instance — and Mrs. Carruthers and her daugh- 
ter left the Jardin de Grosvenor, followed by the polite 
asseverations of M. Emile Lesdernier. 

Two doors below they stopped at a print shop to look at 
some bright water-color sketches which had chanced to at- 
tract Gwyneth’s eye in the show window, Mrs. Carruthers 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


25 


put her hand in her embroidered velvet pocket for her 
purse, to pay for them. To her amazement and astonish- 
ment there was no purse there. 

“ It’s gone!” she involuntarily exclaimed. 

“Not your purse, mamma!” cried Gwyneth. “ There! 
Didn’t I tell you so? That yellow-haired, smooth-tongued 
beggar brat has picked your pocket! I saw her loitering 
by the restaurant windows as I came out, and as I live, 
there she is now, with the purse in her very hands!” 

And, following her daughter to the door, Mrs. Car- 
ruthers saw Florine Dufour just outside, the open sealskin 
purse in her hands, and her big blue-gray eyes greedily de- 
vouring its contents. 

Gwyneth glanced eagerly up the street, and by a special 
stroke of good fortune, her eyes chanced to fall upon one 
of that much-abused class which is supposed always to be 
absent when most needed — a policeman! 

“ A 67,” whose registered name on the police books was 
Derwent Bryan, residence 45 Paddington Street, birth- 
place Glamorganshire, in Males, chanced to be standing 
on the upper corner, apparently debating in his own mind 
whether he should keep straight on by the sunny, railed-in 
park to the south, or turn down toward the Jardin de 
Grosvenor. He was not looking Miss Vivian’s way, but 
the eye of the police force is Argus-like, and he perceived 
Miss Vivian’s uplifted finger in an instant, and compre- 
hended as quickly that poor Florine Dufour was the quarry 
on which he must straightway descend. 

“Now, then! Come!” said A 67, his iron grasp on 
Florine’s shrinking shoulders. “ What’s it all about? 
Prigging again?” as he caught the sealskin purse from 
her hand. “At your old tricks, eh?” 

Which was hardly fair, as A 67 had never set eyes on 
Florine Dufour previously. But in his line of life there is 
a certain formula of words suitable to certain cases, and 
A 67 had no very startling originality of mind. 


26 


LOVE AND eTEALOUSY. 


“ I\e done nothing!’^ cried Florine, shrilly. “ Let me 
alone! Let me alone, 1 say!^’ 

Oh, 1 dare say,^' sneered A 67, touching his hat to 
the ladies. “ Which of you does it belong to, ma’am 
holding up the rescued purse, with all its bank-notes fortu- 
nately intact. “Was there fourteen pound and a half 
crown in sixpences in it?” 

“It is mine,” said Mrs. Carruthers, looking nervously 
around, as a motley crowd began to assemble, as mutely 
and mysteriously as if the lookers-on had sprung out of the 
very cracks in the flag-stones, “ and there was about four- 
teen pounds in it, I think! It’s all right, and you can let 
the poor thing go.'’ 

“ Begging your pardon, ma’am, not if I know it,” said 
A 67, with another touch of the brim of his cap. “ It’s a 
clear case of petty larceny, ma’am, and I’m bound to re- 
port it at the court.” 

“ 1 picked it up on the pavement!” cried out Florine. 
“ How was I to know whom it belonged to? Let me go, 1 
say!” 

“ You’re a deal too handy at picking up such like stray 
articles, my dear,” said the policeman, derisively. “ Just 
you come along with me, and his honor’ll have a kittle talk 
with you on that sort of thing, when court sits to-morrow 
morning. ’ ’ 

“ But I shall lodge no complaint,” said Mrs. Carruthers, 
whose kind heart was melted with compassion at the sight 
of the youthful captive’s evident dismay and terror. 

“Mamma, you are talking like a fool!” cried out 
Gwyneth Vivian, fairly beside herself with annoyance. 
“Not lodge a complaint, when the girl has picked your 
pocket of fourteen pounds, right under your very eyes and 
nose!” 

“ Don’t fret, miss,” said A 67, with all the chivalrous 
gallantry he could command, “ it ain’t necessary. I’ve 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 27 

seen enough for myself to eiia))le me to lodge all requisite 
information. Move on, young ^omanl’^ to Florine. 

But Florine stood as if she were rooted to the ground. 

I won't go to the police court!" cried she. “ No one 
has any right to take me there! I've stolen nothing from 
anybody. I saw the purse lying on the ground, and I 
picked it up. 1 opened it, too, to see how much was in it. 
Where was the harm of that? Why are you taking me to 
the police court?" 

“ Come, now, what are you making a fuss about?" 
urbanely reasoned A 67. “ You've danced, and now you 

must pay the fiddler. Where's the use of making a crowd 
and annoying the ladies? You're old enough to know bet- 
ter, you are, and if you can't make up your mind to go 
along peaceably, you must just be carried, willy-nilly, 
that's all." 

Florine Dufour uttered a low, smothered cry, like that 
of a hunted wild animal, and instinctively threw herself in- 
to an attitude of mute, defying resistance. 

“ I won't go!" she said. “ I won't stir a step! Not 
if you kill me, I won't!" 


CHAPTER IV. 

NA03II RUNDELL TO THE RESCUE. 

But before A 67 could carry his implied threat into 
execution, a new actor appeared upon the scene. A mild- 
featured old Quaker lady, who presided over the counter 
of a ready-made linen warehouse across the way, issued 
from her door, with a dove-colored merino shawl wrapped 
over her head, and a pair of mammoth shears dangling 
from her belt. 

Friend," she said, gently, her low voice sounding 
quite clear and distinct through the hubbub of the assem- 
blage, “ what is thee going to do with that child?" 

“ Going to take her into custody for pocket-picking. 


28 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


ma’am/^ answered A 67, touching his hat in unconscious 
homage to age and gentleness. 

‘‘ But she has not been pocket-picking, friend,’’ mildly 
remonstrated the Quakeress. “ That is, if thee has refer- 
ence to yonder sealskin purse that the lady has in her 
hand. Thee knows me, and can rely on my truthfulness?” 

A 67 nodded. 

“ Oh, yes, I know you,” said he. “ You’ve kept that 
there linen drapery ten years — and your name is Mrs. 
Naomi Rundell!” 

The woman nodded. 

“ Thee is quite right, friend. And if 1 assure thee that 
1 saw this poor weeping child,” laying her hand kindly on 
Florine Dufour’s head, from which the fantastic red velvet 
cap had fallen, in the general melee, “ pick that purse off 
the sidewalk five minutes ago, thee will see no reason to 
doubt my word?” 

“ Certainly not, ma’am,” said A 67, scratching his head 
and looking rather puzzled, and a little disappointed. 

“ Then 1 give that assurance,” said Mrs. Naomi Run- 
dell. “ I did see her, a minute or so before thee was sum- 
moned. Whether she would have kept it or not I can not 
take upon myself to assert. Poor human nature is but too 
liable to temptation. But picking a purse off the pave- 
ment is certainly not stealing 

“ No, to be sure not, ma’am,” said A 67, reluctantly 
releasing his grip of Florine Dufour’s shoulder. But 
it’s lucky for the girl that you chanced to be looking out 
of your window just at that moment. Now, my girl,” to 
Florine, “ cut home, and keep your hands off the next 
purse you see lying about loose — do you hear?” 

“ I’ve done nothing wrong!” passionately retorted Flor- 
ine, turning upon him like a baited tigress. 

“Nobody says you have,” asserted A 6?; “but mind 
you don’t do it again. Come, you young ragamuffins,” 
addressing the assembled crowd, “ clear out, and don’t be 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


29 


stopping np her majesty’s thoroughfares in this sort of ^ 
way! Here, is this velvet and spangled concern your hat, 
my girl?” 

He had stooped to pick it up from the ground, and held 
it, not unkindly, to the yellow-haired girl, who caught it 
from his hand, without a word of thanks, and fitted it 
deftly on the side of her head. 

“ Where’s my basket?” she said, looking around her. 

“ My basket of laces? It was on my arm when you fright- 
ened me so! Where is it now?” 

But all search for the basket and its contents proved 
vain. In the general crowd and confusion it had been 
spirited away by some light-fingered practitioner, under 
the very badge of A 67. 

“ Well, here’s a go!” said that minion of the law. 

“ Whoever come that little game deserves a deal of credit, 
he does. ” 

Once more Florine burst into tears — big glittering drops, 
each one of which seemed a ball of fire as it trickled down 
her brown cheeks. 

‘‘Oh, what will Mother Benoit say?” she sobbed, mo- 
mentarily forgetful of all around her. “ She’ll kill me if 
I’ve lost the laces and things!” 

“ Come, now, don’t fret,” said A 67, who was mortal, 
and consequently not unaffected by the violet-black eyes 
all sparkling with tears, and the small, piquant features of 
his quondam captive. “ No call to cry after spilled milk. 
Here’s a shilling for your pretty face, and I hope you’ll 
not bear malice. ” 

“ No,” said Florine, slowly wiping the big drops from 
her eyes, and turning the silver piece around and around 
in the palm of her slender and not unshapely hand, “ no; 

I suppose you thought I stole the purse, but I didn’t.” 

“ It’s all right now,” said A 67, soothingly. “ Go 
home and tell Mother Benoit the whole truth. I’m right 
down sorry, though,” he added, fervently, “ that you be- 


30 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


long to such a cantankerous old bag of bones as Mother 
Benoit!’" 

Florine looked up quickly into his face. 

“ Do you know her?’" said she. 

“ Do I know her? Don"t every policeman and court of 
justice in London know her?"" retorted A 67, with a shrug 
of his stal wart shoulders. 

“ She"s awful when she gets angry,"" said Florine, 
wistfully. 

“ I should think likely,"" nodded A 67; “ but she can’t 
blame you in this particular case."" 

“ She will, though,"" declared Florine, shrinking invol- 
untarily from the very idea of presenting herself before 
the awful tribunal of Mother Benoit. 

“ Then the quicker it"s over with the better,"" suggested 
A 67. 

And Florine, unwillingly acknowledging the truth of 
this statement, walked slowly away, defiantly eying the 
little crowd who parted to the right and left to allow her 
to pass. As she moved along, the carriage in which sat 
Mrs. Carruthers and her daughter, Gwyneth Vivian, rolled 
past. 

“ Poor little thing!"" said Mrs. Carruthers, as she noted 
the stain of tears on the girl"s cheeks; “ 1 knew she didn’t 
pick my pocket, Gwyneth, for all you were so certain of it."" 

“ She would have done so, quick enough, if she had had 
a chance,"" promptly answered the young lady. 

And so they passed one another in the streets of Lon- 
don, the daughter of wealth and luxury, and the forlorn 
waif and stray of the gutters. 

Of all the dismal courts in the great city of London — 
and the name of them may justly be said to be Legion — 
there is probably none more dismal, darker, or less gener- 
ally accessible than Partridge Court. The rickety and 
beetling tenement houses that give it the right to a dis- 
tinctive name, extend only along one side of it, the other 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 31 

being occupied by the blind wall at the back of a long-un-. 
used iron foundry. 

Possibly the atmosphere of Partridge Court was unfavor- 
able to the manufacture of iron ware; possibly the pro- 
prietor of the Hercules Works had succeeded in amassing 
sufficient wealth to justify him in building more extensive 
quarters elsewhere; but at all events, the works had been 
shut up for months, and no cheerful buzz of machinery, 
nor hum of revolving belts and wheels cheered the mo- 
notony of the dwellers in Partridge Court. Dark rumors 
were abroad as to gangs of burglars, bands of counterfeit- 
ers, and such like Pariahs, who were reported to make 
rendezvous in the unused rooms, and hold midnight vigils 
within the smoke-blackened walls, but nobody stood ready 
to prove the facts, and it only served to lend a delicious 
atmosphere of mystery to the premises in Partridge Court. 

There were only three or four houses in the Court before 
you came up against the end of a monster brewery — three 
or four houses, a narrow gutter, and .a sprinkling of un- 
even cobble-stones, where green mildew gathered in sum- 
mer, and the discolored layers of ice defied the spring 
breezes until the very last of April. The sun never shone 
into Partridge Court, and the very children who played in 
the gutter had an unhealthy, bleached-out look, like sickly 
mushrooms, or celery that has sprouted in a dark cellar. 
But Partridge Court was cheap and retired, and the old 
tenement houses were all honeycombed back to other tene- 
ment houses in the rear, until the unfortunate investigator 
who found himself within their limits was forced to recall 
to mind the pen-and-ink labyrinths of his childhood, when 
he started hopefully from a certain point and never got 
back to it again. 

Treading her way with swift and gliding rapidity, that 
was not unlike the deadly graceful motion of a serpent, 
Florine Dufour hurried along the streets to Partridge 
Court, reaching it just as the border of sunset light that 


32 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


edged the chimneys changed to dull gray, and the sun 
went down. 

Mother Benoit was standing in the door-way of the sec- 
ond of the old houses, peering furtively up and down the 
street as Florine approached. She formed no attractive ob- 
ject, her gray locks blowing about from beneath the frowsy 
edge of the tattered hood she wore, her toothless gums dis- 
played, and one skinny hand put up, like a pent-house, 
over her eyes. 

“Oh!” said Mother Benoit, recognizing the straight 
figure, “ so it^s you, is it?” ‘ 

“ Yes, it’s me,” said Florine. 

“ Good luck, eh?” said Mother Benoit. 

“No luck at all,” returned the girl, “ or rather bad 
luck. Let me go upstairs.” 

“Not just yet, my pretty,” snarled the old woman, in- 
terposing her crooked figure between Florine and the 
mouse-nibbled stairway, “ not yet. Not till you’ve told 
me where your basket is. ” 

“ I’ye lost it,” said Florine, recklessly. 

“ Lost it?” Mother Benoit’s little black eyes flashed 
somber lightning. “Pawned it, you mean — stole it! — 
squandered it away!” 

“ I mean nothing of the sort,” said Florine, impatient- 
ly. “ It was stolen. There was a crowd in the streets, 
and somehow it was taken without my knowledge.” 

“ You’re a liar!” shrieked out the old woman. “ Give 
me the basket! Tell me where it is, or I’ll tear the eyes 
out of your head!” 

She made me a savage lunge at the girl, but Florine, 
not unused to encounters of this nature, avoided her grasp, 
and flew like a shadow up the narrow and creaking stairs, 
crying out as she went: “ Mother! mother!” 

And, bursting open a warped and worm-eaten door on 
the third floor, she rushed into a little room with a sloping 
roof and one window — a room whose furniture was scant 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 33 

and squalid in the extremest degree, and whose unventi- 
lated atmosphere was sickeningly close and warm. 

In one corner stood a narrow pallet bed, upon which, 
under a heap of foul and ragged clothes, lay stretched a 
figure. Florine approached it with a softer step. 

“ Mother, are you asleep?'^ said she. And then, per- 
ceiving that the eyes were open, and apparently regarding 
her, she added a little impatiently: “ Why don’t you speak 
to me, mammy? It’s me — Florinette!” 

Still there was no answer. 

Florine flung off her hat, and kneeling by the bedside, 
laid her flushed cheek against the yellow forehead. She 
started back with a cry — it was as cold as marble! 

“ Oh, my God!” shrieked the girl, “ she is dead!’^ 

It was true enough. There, on the narrow bed, with an 
empty laudanum vial beside her, poor Pauline Dufour lay, 
quite dead and cold! 

Florine sprung to her feet, with hands clasped wildly 
above her head, and dilated eyes — and at the same moment 
she saw Mother Benoit at her side. 

“ Dead, is she?” crooned the old hag, feeling for the 
pulseless heart. “ Yes, you’re right — she’s as dead as Mo- 
hammed! And there’s the bottle of sleeping stuff,” with a 
nod toward the laudanum vial. “ She was always a-threat- 
ening she’d take it, but I never put no faith in her non- 
sense. And now she's done it! Fool! fool! just when we 
were on the high-road to all we coveted! Dead! She was 
always a selfish creature, but I didn’t s’pose she’d shuffle 
out of the world just when she could be of a little use to 
me! Dead! Florine,” she added, turning sharply to the 
girl, “go for the police! I’ll have all things fair and 
square. Nobody shall say I poisoned her! Go for the 
police, I say!” 

Florine flung off her touch as if it were contamination. 

“ I won’t!” said she. “ I’ll not stir a step! Mammy’s 
2 


34 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


dead! — and you want me to go running about the streets 
like an errand girl! Oh, mammy! mammy !^^ 

And with a burst of wild, untamed grief, she threw her- 
self on the cold, lifeless figure, clinging close to it, bedew- 
ing the rigid face with her scalding tears. 

“Mammy, mammy!'^ she called out, piteously, “take 
me, too! There^s nobody left for me now! What made 
you go and leave your little Florinette? Oh, mammy, 
mammy, come back for me! Oh, how could you leave me 
all alone 

Mother Benoit stood passively regarding the two, her 
hands on her hips, her heavy eyes restlessly roving from 
Florine’s flushed face, all shadowed with falling golden 
hair, to the dead and immovable features of the woman 
she had called Pauline, and muttering to herself the while, 
as if she were casting some unseen horoscope in her brain. 

“Oh, well,^^ mumbled she, “ p’r^aps iVs just as well, 
after all !^^ 

While the burden of poor Florine’s cry was still: 

“ Alone — alone! Oh, mammy, how could you leave me 
all alone?’ ^ 


CHAPTER V. 

ELORINE FINDS A PLACE. 

Ill news flies rapidly. So does news of any description; 
and before it would seem possible, everybody in No. 2 
Partridge Court was aware that Pauline Dufour, who lived 
with old Mother Benoit, had poisoned herself to death, and 
half a dozen barefooted and bareheaded boys had run to 
report the news to the nearest police station. 

“ And a very good thing too,” said Mrs. Rebecca Nob- 
bles, who kept a mangle on the first floor. “ There T1 be 
enough to say as old Benoit done it herself, and she’s wise 
to get the police on her side, that she is. A reg’lar old 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


35 


sarpint of a woman, as would be equal to any crime on the 
Newgate calendar!^' 

Noiselessly, and yet bearing with them a subtle atmos- 
phere of command and efficiency, the police pervaded the 
scene, scattering the gaping crowd, placing sentinels at 
the door, and somehow contriving, without any apparent 
effort, to bring order out of the chaos. 

“ Now, then,^’ said the chief among them, a pleasant- 
faced, gray-haired man, with an insinuating manner and a 
falcon eye, “ let’s hear how it all was!” 

Mother Benoit was bursting out into an explanatory 
cataract of words, when the officer checked her with a 
gesture. 

“ Not you,” said he. “I didn’t mean you. It wasn’t 
you that found her. This girl, 1 mean,” nodding at 
Florine. 

And Florine, recounting her simple tale in a voice that 
trembled so that she could hardly command her utterance, 
broke down in the midst of it, when, chancing to look to- 
ward the door, she saw, towering above the little knot of 
people there, the intent face and brilliant hazel eyes of her 
friend of the morning, A 67. 

“ What is it?” asked the gray-haired official, looking 
sharply around. “ Who is distracting the attention of my 
deponent?” 

“It is only me, Mr. Inspector,” said A 67, with a 
salute. “ I saw her this morning — there was a little diffi- 
culty in Gardner Street, but she wasn’t to blame. I was 
reporting off duty when the message reached the police 
station, so I thought I’d just step around!” 

“ Well!” The inspector was not quite satisfied, but he 
waived the point. “Go on, my girl — Florine Dufour, I 
think you called yourself?” 

There was not much to tell. It was sufficiently evident 
that poor Pauline had died of an overdose of landanaum, 
administered by her own hands. The inspector surveyed 


3G 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


the apartment, asked a few additional questions, whose 
answers he noted down in a pocket memorandum book, 
and went away. The crowd melted gradually away, as 
darkness came on, whispering among themselves of a coro- 
ner^s inquest to be held the next day, and so the world 
flowed on as if no such trivial occurrence as a pauper’s 
death had ever disturbed its current. 

Except for poor Florine, sitting alone in the room where 
her mother had flung away all the links and ties that held 
her to this earth, and gone boldly out to meet the unutter- 
able mystery of the next! 

“ Come, now, don’t fret!” said A 67. 

The inquest was over. Pauline Dufour was buied in 
Potter’s Field at the parish expense, and Florine was stand- 
ing at the door through which her mother’s unpainted 
pine coffin had been carried out, staring at the bricks of 
the Hercules W orks with tear-swollen eyes, and hands that 
hung limply at her side. A 67’s beat was over, and after 
reporting himself duly at the station, he was tasting the 
sweets of private life! 

Florine turned suddenly around on him. 

“It’s easy talking,” said she. “ You’d fret, if you 
didn’t know what on earth was to become of you.” 

“ Blit 1 do know,” remarked A 67, chewing at a straw 
which he had picked up. 

“ That’s just the difference between us,” retorted Flor- 
ine. 

“I don’t mean about myself,” said the officer. “I 
mean about you.” 

“ How can you know what is going to become of me?” 
she incredulously demanded. 

“ It ain’t knowing for certain,” said A 67. “ It’s just 

guessing. Now look here. You suppose, just because 
I’m on the police force, that I’m everybody’s enemy, and 
yours into the bargain. But I ain’t. Now look here 
again. When I’m off duty. I’m a private individual like 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 37 

the rest of the world. I ainH A 67, I’m Derwent Bryan. 
Suppose you call me Mr. Bryan?” 

“ What does it matter what I call you?” impatiently 
demanded the girl. 

“ A good deal. It puts me on a footing of common hu- 
man nature. Well, now look here again,” measuring off 
each short, sharp sentence with his finger as\if he were cut- 
ting lengths of tape, you’re a good girl and a pretty one, 
and though you ain’t nothing to me, I ain’t willing to see^ 
you go drifting to the bad, just for lack of a helping hand. 
And you’ve got to bestir yourself in some direction, I sup- 
pose.” 

“Yes,” said Florine, sadly, “Mother Benoit won’t 
have me here any longer, and if she would, 1 wouldn’t 
stay! I’d. run away. ” 

“ And very right,” said Mr. Derwent Bryan, with an 
approving nod. “ But where would you run to?” 

“ I don’t know,” faltered poor Florine. 

“ Because, you know, people must live,” nodded Bryan. 
“ Can’t subsist on dew, like the humming-birds, or dust, 
like the spiders. Must eat, and drink, and wear clothing. 
Now, look here!” 

Once more Florine’s eyes involuntarily followed the mo- 
tion of his quick, uplifted forefinger. 

“Yes,” said she, eagerly. 

“ I’ve got a sister in the hair-dressing business — a sister 
that married a barber, and has added a genteel hair em- 
porium to the cutting and shaving department. Wigs, 
toupees, false curls, ladies’ hair dressed at their own resi- 
dences, and all that sort of thing, you understand. I think 
she’d take in a handy girl on my recommendation. It’s 
genteel, and it’s not difficult.” 

“Oh!” cried Florine, clasping her hands together, 
while a glitter of wistful aspiration came into her eyes, 
“ do you think she would have me?” 

“Nothing like trying,” briskly answered Mr. Derwent 


38 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


Bryan. “ Of course she wouldn^t pay you much just at 
first, but then, you see, you’d be learning the business, and 
there’s always the chance of bettering yourself.” 

“ 1 should like it so much,” said Florine, who had been 
haunted by dismal. visions of the poor-house during the last 
two or three days. 

“ Then come along,” said Mr. Bryan. 

Florine recoiled a little. 

“Now?” 

“ Why not?” 

“But I couldn’t take your arm,” with a frightened 
glance at that profiered member. “ Please, please let me 
walk behind. ” 

“ Just as you like,” said Mr. Bryan, dropping his arm 
with a slight air of disappointment. “ It ain’t far.” 

Mrs. Hetherege, nee Miss Jemima Bryan, was considera- 
bly surprised at the unwonted apparition of her brother 
and his young protegee, just as the family were sitting 
down to supper in the back shop — and still more surprised 
at his errand. 

“ Well, I never!” said Mrs. Hetherege, as Florine stood 
in the shop looking around with wistful, half-frightened 
eyes at the smiling wax countenances in the show v^in- 
dows, with satin “fronts,” and glossy crops of curls, the 
array of wigs, and the army of switches that hung on 
hooks behind the counter, and wondering where so much 
hair could possiby have come from. 

“ What is she to you, Derwent?” 

“ Nothing in the world,” said Mr. Bryan; “ only I feel 
sorry for her. ” 

“ She’s pretty, too,” said Mrs. Hetherege, glancing over 
the top of the muslin curtain that veiled the glass door 
leading into the shop. 

“ Yes,” said Bryan, carelessly, “ she ain’t bad-looking. 
Come, Jemima, will you oblige me, or won’t you?” 


LO'VE AND JEALOUSY. 


39 


“ It^s asking a good deal/^ said Mrs. Hetherege, stir- 
ring her spoon around in the tea-cup before her. 

“ I don^t see that it is/^ retorted her brother. “ You 
need a girl to help you in the shop, since the twins came 
— I\e heard you say so yourself. And this one^ll come 
cheap — just her board 

“ And how about her clothing?^^ suspiciously demanded 
the matron, with a second glance, this time partaking of 
the . supercilious, toward poor Florine, who still stood in 
the middle of the floor, her hands folded before her, and 
her eyelids drooping. “ Because, of course, I couldnH be 
expected to have such a flgure as that in the shop!’^ 

“ Ifll be at the expense of her clothes until you can pay 
her wages, or until she gets another place, said Bryan. 
“ Well, why shouldnH as Mrs. Hetherege^s counte- 
nance expressed her amazement. “ I\e no family of my 
own, and 1 can afford to indulge a whim now and then, 
can^t I?’’ 

And Florine was presently called in, and informed gra- 
ciously by the mistress of the establishment that she was 
to be retained for the present in her service. 

Florine dropped a little courtesy. 

“ Thank you very much, ma^am,^^ said she. 

“ Of course,f^ added Mrs. Hetherege, ‘‘ 1 donT expect 
you’ll be of much use just at first, but you must be quick 
and tidy, and willing to make yourself generally useful, 
either in the parlor or the shop.” 

“ I will do my best, ma’am,” said Florine, meekly. 

“ And you must remember,” went on Mrs. Hetherege, 
“ that 1 take you solely to oblige my brother.” 

Florine looked wistfully up, with the black*gray eyes 
full of tears, to Mr. Bryan. 

“ 1 am so very, very much obliged to you, sir,” she 
said. 

During the whole of this conversation, Mr. Hetherege, 
being a mere cipher in the domestic circle, had sat by. 


40 


LOVR AND JEALOUSY. 


buttering the bread of the younger children, and adding 
his feeble mite to the flow of eloquence by a nod or a “ just 
so,^^ whenever his wife made a statement. 

Ostensibly the business was Hetherege & Co. ; in reality 
it was ms. Hetherege, and no “ Co."' at all! The snug 
little barber thought the arrangement was capital, and as 
for Mrs. Hetherege, she had never dreamed of the possi- 
bility of any other. 

“ Good-bye, then, my lass," said Derwent Bryan, hold- 
ing out his hand to Florine. She put her little cold palm 
in it, with an earnest, grateful pressure of which she her- 
self was perhaps unconscious; he held it a second, half un- 
decided whether or not to resist the strong temptation to 
kiss her good-bye which came over him. But he dropped 
the hand at last, and turned on his heel. 

“ She’s only a child, to be sure,’’ he told himself; “ but 
she’s too much of a woman for that! And may be Jemima 
wouldn’t have liked it either — women are so odd about 
some things.’’ 

So A 67 went away, well satisfied with his evening’s 
work, and Florine, under Mrs. Hetherege’s shrill direc- 
tions, began to clear away the supper-table. It was all so 
new, so strange — but then it was a home! 

While she was learning, so to speak, the alphabet of do- 
mestic service in a thrifty family. Mother Benoit, with all 
the doors locked, and old newspapers pinned up in front 
of such windows as did not boast the privacy of shutters, 
was crouching in front of a smoldering handful of coals, 
looking over some time-yellowed papers by the light of a 
farthing candle. 

“ May the foul fiend fly away with ’em all!’’ snarled 
Mother Benoit, flinging them aside. “ That there copy of 

that baptismal register ain’t here, after all. It would be 

like her to burn it, just to spite me! But I won’t be 

balked now, of all times in the world. I’ll go back to 

Paris, and get another copy — 1 will! The gal’s off my 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


41 


hands, thanks to that fool of a policeman, and as Tve no- 
body to look to but myself, 1^11 treat myself to a little trip 
to Paris. 

Drawing a tiny steel tool from her pocket, she deftly 
pried up a loose board of the floor, wedged in between the 
hearth-stone and a wooden cupboard, or dresser, clumsily 
built into the wall that adjoined it, and burrowing on her 
stomach, pushed the bundle of papers, carefully inclosed 
in a little oiled silk bag, and afterward packed in a flat, 
japanned box, as far under as she could reach. 

“ There,^^ said she, as she scrambled, panting, to her 
feet, “ they^ll be as snug there as a bug in a rug. It ain’t 
likely the landlord ’ll let this very desirable apartment un- 
til 1 come back; and if he does, nobody’ll find the papers; 
and if they do,” with a sardonic widening of the shrunken 
mouth, which she meant for a smile, “ they’re like the 
documents in the advertisements, no use to anybody but 
the owners. Once I get the copies of them registers I’m 
all right!” 

The landlord was rather surprised the next morning by 
the appearance of Mother Benoit with a key. 

“ Going away, hey?” said he. 

“ Yes, sir,” said the old hag, dabbing at her dry eyes 
with the corner of her shawl. “ My spirit is that low 
since the suicide, as I can’t bring myself to stay in one 
place partickler, since my ungrateful adopted child, Flor- 
ine, has cut and run. So I’m just going to try what travel 
and change of air will do. And here’s the key, please, sir, 
hopin’ you may soon be suited with a tenant!” 

So with an audible series of sniffs. Mother Benoit took 
herself out of the room, leaving a fragrant atmosphere of 
gin and lemon-peel behind her, to commence begging her 
way to the railway terminus, and there is no sort of doubt 
but that all would have gone merry as a marriage-bell with 
her, had it not been for the unfortunate fact that a lady, 
on the fashionable thoroughfare that she selected, had hei* 


42 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


lace pocket-handkerchief hanging too far out of one of the 
fancy little pockets that ladies will persist in wearing at the 
very back of their jaunty velvet jackets. Mother Benoit 
vowed and protested by all the saints in the calendar that 
she was about to return it to the owner, with a mild cau- 
tion as to greater vigilance; but the fact that she had it in 
her hand was undeniable, and circumstantial evidence bore 
down strongly upon her. 

“ This is not the first offense, woman, said the magis- 
trate, sternly, “ nor yet the second.-’^ 

“ Your honor, I’m a stranger in the city,” sniveled 
Mother Benoit, wagging her head to express extreme hu- 
mility, “ and if 1 ain’t back to my daughter in Kent by 
sundown — ” 

“You needn’t trouble yourself to coin any further 
lies,” interrupted the justice. “ You are committed. 
Officer, bring on the next case!” 

And so Mother Benoit’s trip across the Channel was 
nipped ruthlessly in the bud, and her foreign travel con- 
fined, perforce, to the four walls of a penitentiary. 

“ And all for a nasty rag of a pocket-hand kercher, with 
nothing but imitation lace on it, arter all!” groaned 
Mother Benoit, when at last convinced that justice must 
have her way in spite of an avalanche of lies. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE NEIGHBORS AT WHITE OAKS. 

It was I’riday afternoon, the identical Friday upon 
which Derwent Bryan had obtained a shelter and tempo- 
rary abiding-place for poor little Florine Dufour— a bleak 
and dreary afternoon, with a mournful wind sighing in the 
beech avenue at Pane Court, and now and then a flutter 
of snow in the gray air. The geraniums that Christabel 
had planted and tended around the old sun-dial were black- 
ened with frost and stretched prone upon the ground; the 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


43 


leafless rose brambles tapped sepulchrally against the case- 
ments, and at every uneasy gust a shower of dead leaves 
seemed to start from some unseen hiding-place, and scurry 
like frightened birds along the ground. 

Christabel Fane was sitting at the window with some 
needle-work in her hand, but she was^not sewing much. 
Her dark, dreamy eyes were riveted on the bleak autumn 
landscape, her thoughts wandering far away; for, during 
the last few days, Christabel had been turning matters and 
things over in her mind, and had decided to change her 
mode of life. 

“ I can^t live on so forever,^’ she said to herself, the 
blood involuntarily tingling in her veins as she remembered 
the insolence with which the baker clattered by her in his 
cart that morning on the high-road, and the unpleasant 
persistance of the green-grocer's claims upon the previous 
day. “ Papa is absent so much that I am sure he wouldn't 
mind the Court being shut up for a little while, and if I 
could have a few lessons from a first-class master in Lon- 
don, I am sure 1 could paint pictures as good as half those 
one sees hanging on the walls. Lady Fordell told me that 
lady artists were all the rage in London, and if 1 could 
open a studio, and carve out my own career to success — " 

And at the mere idea Miss Fane's cheek flushed bright 
with pride and gratification. 

“ But what nonsense I am dreaming," she cried out to 
herself, the rose-colored vision fading once more into dull 
reality. “ I am only little Christa Fane, after all, and I 
dare say the great London artists would ridicule the very 
idea of my trying to enter the lists. But there's no harm 
in my at least making the endeavor, and I mean to speak 
to papa about it, just as soon as he comes home." 

And as she once more took up her needle-work, the 
straight, gentlemanly figure of Sir Rupert, mounted on a 
stout gray cob, which alone tenanted the stately stables 


44 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


built for twenty horses, came up the avenue at a leisurely 
trot. 

Christabel ran to the door to meet him, scarcely allow- 
ing him time to dismount, and fling the reins to old Dykes 
before she had thrown her arms around him, overwhelm- 
ing him with kisses and caresses, as an only daughter alone 
can overwhelm a beloved parent. 

“ Dearest papa, 1 am so glad you are at home again, 
she cried, drawing him into the little sitting-room. 
“ Anne, tell Diggory to go immediately to the station for 
papa^s luggage, and let Joan send us something to eat at 
onoe. Oh, papa, it seems an age since you went away!^^ 

Sir Eupert Fane smiled as he unfolded the silken wrap- 
pings of an immense muffler from his neck, and allowed 
Christabel to remove his overcoat, which was of expensive 
material, and bore the stamp of a London tailor. 

“ Oh, papa! a new overcoat cried Christabel, holding 
it up, and looking admirably at its silk lining and mouse- 
colored velvet collar. “ 1 am so glad, you needed one 
sadly. 

And in her secret heart Christabel wondered where the 
money for its acquisition could possibly have come from. 

“Yes, my dear,^^ said Sir Eupert, in a soft, pleasant 
voice as he settled down into the arm-chair, and held out 
his slender, aristocratic fingers toward the blaze in the 
grate, “ I did not contemplate any such extravagance 
when I left home, but I found myself unexpectedly called 
into society, and one must conform to the ways of the 
civilized world when one goes into that world. I wish, 
my dear,’^ with a glance at ChristabeFs plain, gray dress, 
“ that 1 could afford to dress you in a manner more suited 
to your rank and birth. 

“Oh! I’m well enough, papa,^’ said Christabel, with a 
light laugh. “You know there is the old violet brocade 
that belonged to my grandmother in a big chest upstairs, 
whenever I choose to have it made over, and mamma’s 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


4o 


black silk, too. Here comes‘Aniie with the tea-tray, aod 
see, papa, there^s a bit of cold ham for you. 1 hope you 
have brought a good appetite with you.” 

Sir Eupert Fane, sitting before the fire, and drinking 
his tea, with dark, meditative eyes fixed on the fire, was a 
slender, comely faced gentleman of scarcely fifty, with a 
high, smooth forehead, a slightly aquiline nose, and a chin 
which, although somewhat weak in its curves, was straight 
and handsomely iholded. The dark eyes, so like Christa- 
beFs, were full of a soft and kindly light, but although 
there was a family similitude between father and daugh- 
ter, it was very evident that Christabel must have inherited 
her haughty thorough-bred loveliness from the dead mother 
whom she could not remember. 

“ Did you have a nice time, papa?” questioned the girl, 
leaning her elbow on his knee, and looking up fondly into 
his face. “Oh! how 1 should like to see London!” 

“ A very pleasant time, Christa,” said the baronet, me- 
chanically stirring his tea, but still looking thoughtfully at 
the leaping spires of flame. “ By the way,” speaking with 
an evident effort, “ I met one of our neighbors up there.” 

“ One of our neighbors, papa? Lady Fordell has not 
returned from Naples,” returned Christabel, with a puz- 
zled air. 

“We have other neighbors, my dear, besides Lady For- 
dell,” said Sir Eupert. “ I am alluding to Mrs. Car- 
ruthers and her daughter. Miss Vivian. ” 

“Oh!” cried Christabel, with the least possible eleva- 
tion of hpr perfectly arched eyebrows, “those parvenus 
who have bought White Oaks!” 

Sir Eupert frowned slightly. 

“ Mrs. Carruthers and her daughter are very agreeable 
ladies, Christabel,” said he, “ and I hope you will not 
allow yourself to slide into the common groove of popular 
opinion without some more sufficient reason than ‘ they 


40 


LOVE ANT) JEALOUSY. 


say."' Moreover, I have promised Mrs. Carruthers that 
you aud 1 will call upon them to-morrow. 

course, papa, if you wish it,’’ assented Christabel. 
“ I dare say they are very nice people, only their fortune 
was amassed in trade!” 

‘‘ A fortune is no contemptible thing in these days, no 
matter how it is acquired,” sententiously observed Sir Ru- 
pert. “ And I was most favorably impressed with Mrs. 
Carruthers and Miss Vivian.” 

“ Well, don’t let us talk of the White Oaks people any 
more, papa,” coaxed Christabel, snugging up closer still 
to her father. “ I want to tell you of my plans!” 

“ Well, darling?” 

“ Papa,” said Christabel, a little doubtfully, as if un- 
certain how her proposition might be received, “ 1 want to 
be an artist!” 

“ Christabel!” 

“ Yes, papa, I’m in earnest. 1 do believe 1 have a 
talent for sketching and painting in oils, and I want to go 
to London and take lessons from the best artists, so that 1 
can open a studio for myself, and get rich, and perhaps 
famous.” 

“ Christabel,” said Sir Rupert Fane, with a disturbed 
countenance, “ all this is nonsense! You do not belong 
either by birth or station to the herd that are competing 
for such paltry prizes as that. ” 

“ But, papa, remember Vandyke, who was the com- 
.panion of kings,” pleaded Christabel. “ Remember Sir 
Edwin Landseer, and Rosa Bonheur!” 

“ These are exceptional cases, Christabel.” 

“ Well, why shouldn’t I be an exceptional case, too, 
papa?” 

“ My dear, dismiss all these chimeras from your mind,” 
said Sir Rupert, with an air of authority. “ I can not im- 
agine what has set you thinking of them just now!” 

“ Papa, we are so poor! We need an income so much!” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


47 


faltered poor Christabel, her girlish young enthusiasm sad- 
ly damped. Sir Kupert smiled and patted her head in- 
dulgently. 

“ My little girl mustn^t worry herself with the cares and 
anxieties that belong of right to the old fogies of the 
world, said he. “ And I trust, Christa, that there will 
be no necessity for these car king troubles and annoyances 
much longer. 

‘^Oh, papa!’’ cried Christabel, ‘‘you don’t mean that 
the shares in the Cornish tin mines have turned out a suc- 
cess?” 

‘ ‘ The shares in the tin mines are as unpromising as 
ever, my dear,” said Sir Rupert, with a slight contraction 
of his brows. “ But there are other royal roads to fort- 
une besides Cornish tin mines.” 

‘ “ Papa, what do you mean?” 

am not certain that I meant anything, Christa. 
One can indulge one’s imagination, once in a way, can not 
one? And now if Diggory has got back with the luggage, 
I think I’ll go and change my dress.” 

Christabel sat frowning at the fire, with her small hands 
clasped on her knees, after Sir Rupert Fane had left the 
room, pondering on his last words. 

“ What can papa mean?” she asked herself. “ He is 
not apt to speak in that way without some good founda- 
tion for his words. Can it be that some of his investments 
have really proved a success? 1 know that he has- been 
staying with Mr. Gold worthy, the banker, up in London, 
and bankers have ways of amassing wealth which other 
people do not dream of. He means something — that 1 
know. But 1 wish he hadn’t disapproved so decidedly of 
my poor little aspirations after fame and fortune!” 

The next day, a few minutes after noon, Christabel Fane 
came down-stairs in her scarlet scarf and blue velvet hat, 
her gray dress exchanged for one of blue merino, of a 
somewhat more expensive material and modern make, and 


48 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


a jet chain festooned around her neck and shoulders, to 
accompany her father on the promised call at White Oaks. 
Sir Eupert scanned her critically as she came forward, tall 
and slender, with the graceful, gliding motion which was 
as natural to her as the very breath she drew. 

“ My dear,^^ said he, “ you are very pretty, but I wish 
— 1 do wish you could dress more according to your sta- 
tion!^^ 

Christabel glanced down at her attire. 

“ I am sure, papa, it is very nice,^^ said she. “ And 
my gloves are quite new, and Anne has varnished my boots 
until they look quite respectable!’^ 

Sir Eupert smiled and shook his head, as he remembered 
the rosetted French kid boot that had adorned Gwyneth 
Vivian’s pretty foot that night in Mr. Goldworthy’s salon*. 
Somehow he had lived so remote from society of late, that 
he had almost forgotten the dainty details of a fashionable 
lady’s dress, and this recent glimpse of the gay feminine 
world had aroused him to the disagreeable consciousness 
of poor Christabel’s deficiencies in the toilet question. 

Leaning fondly on her father’s arm, the young girl 
walked down the rustling arcade of the old beech avenue, 
through the stone gates, where Mrs. Dykes dropped them a 
little courtesy as they passed, and along the quiet country 
high-road, where the sole passers at that hour were market- 
wagons and stray cow-boys. It was not a long walk; in 
fact, Christabel was sorry when it was over. She was fond 
of Nature in all its varied developments, and she rather 
dreaded the call at White Oaks. 

“Because,” said Christabel to herself, “I am quite 
sure, in spite of what papa says, that they are not our sort 
of people at all.” 

But, notwithstanding her resolution not to be pleased, 
she could not but admit to herself the almost alchemic in- 
fluence of wealth the moment they passed the elegant lit- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


40 


tie Moresque gate lodge, with its gilded minarets and 
miniature spires, and entered the superb grounds of White 
Oaks — a spot where Art had aided Nature so completely 
that it would have been almost impossible to tell where one 
began and the other left off. Statues glimmered faintly 
through the dense greenery— stone vases, sculptured in 
artistic hasso relievos, were filled with such brilliant 
flowers and creepers as yet resisted the subtle touch of 
midnight frosts and chilling noonday blasts, and before 
the grand terraced entrance was a monster fountain, where 
marble sea-nymphs mounted on dolphins were pouring 
crystal cascades from slender-throated Greek vases into a 
basin whose brim was formed entirely of sculptured mar- 
ble lotos leaves. Christabers thoughts recurred to the 
poor old fountain at home, cracked, ruined, and over- 
grown with lichens and creeping mosses, and she sighed 
deeply. What a glorious career it would be for her, she 
instinctively thought, if, by her own unaided exertions, 
she could win money enough to restore the dear old Court 
to its pristine grandeur, build up the leaning walls, open 
the deserted rooms, and fill the grand halls with light and 
cheerfulness. But she, the descendant of a long line of 
ancestors, was pinched and constrained by poverty, while 
these White Oaks people, by means of a fortune amassed 
in pushing trade, were reigning on the very pinnacle of 
ease and luxury. 

White Oaks was a huge palace of gray stone, built with 
a long low front, and double wings, each of which inclosed 
a sort of paved court, set around with statues, and planted 
with laurels, rhododendrons, and other evergreen shrubs. 
Smaller fountains tinkled musically in the center of each 
of these lesser courts, and brilliantly striped Venetian 
awnings draped the colonnaded door-ways. 

“ Oh, papa,'^ whispered Christabel, pressing her father’s 
arm, as they were ushered into a superb, marble-paved 
hall by a solemn man in black, who appeared, as if by 


50 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


magic, at the door the instant they stepped on the thresh- 
old, “ they must be very rich!^^ 

“ Yes,^^ the servant said, “ the ladies are at home;’' 
and he conducted Sir Rupert Fane and his daughter across 
the circular hall into the grand drawing-room, an apart- 
ment all yellow damask and gilding, where pictures cov- 
ered the walls, statues* on velvet-draped pedestals gleamed 
like petrified snow, and cabinets of expensive shells and 
Sevres china fitted all the angles. On one side, a rotunda 
or dome-roofed conservatory finished the southern end of 
the apartment, affording to Christabel’s wondering eyes a 
tropic wilderness of giant palms, banana-trees, and pome- 
granates — at the other an immense painting of “ Sunset 
in Arabia ” seemed to steep the senses in a slumberous 
glow of limpid golden sky. 

Before Christabel could express her admiration, there 
was a soft, perfumed rustle of silk skirts, and Mrs. Car- 
ruthers entered, followed by two young ladies, who seemed 
preternaturally tall and majestic to the baronet’s daugh- 
ter, and she found herself formally presented to “ Mrs. 
Carruthers, Miss Vivian, and Miss Gwyneth Vivian!” 

After all, it was not so very bad. Mrs. Carruthers was 
gentle and unassuming, and evidently extremely friendly, 
while both the girls, although anxious to make a favorable 
impression on “ the grandees of Fane Court,” as Gwyneth 
had called them, were not without a trace of awkward em- 
barrassment. But Sir Rupert’s polished grace of manner 
could not be excelled, and Christabel’s haughty self-posses- 
sion would have become a princess. 

Some remarks of Miss Fane about the length of time 
that had elapsed since their father’s death, elicited a 
spirited disclaimer from Gwyneth Vivian. 

“ He was not our father, was he, Gerty?” she said, the 
deep color rising to her cheek. “ The man who built up 
the family fortunes on a bale of carpeting. We are Vivi- 
ans. Mamma’s first husband was Captain Vivian. ” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


51 


“ It is a little awkward to have two names in the same 
family/^ explained Mrs. Carruthers, coloring painfully, 
and Christabel instantly felt that the subject was an awk- 
ward one. 

J ust as they were examining a superb poinsetta, covered 
with spikes of fiery scarlet, that occupied a painted china 
vase, at the entrance to the glass rotunda, the sound of 
something clicking against the marble pavement of the 
conservatory, like crutches, was heard, and a shrill voice 
exclaiming : 

“ No, I won^t! 1 won% I say! I don^t care a crooked 
pin for your county nobility, and 1 won^t come in to see 
^em! Poor as church mice and proud as King Solomon! 
/don’t want to see ’em!” 

And at the same instant a boy of twelve years old, with 
weird black eyes, an ivory-pale forehead, over which strag- 
gled elf locks of jetty silken hair, wearing the painfully 
old expression which belongs to sicisly children, and sup- 
ported by rosewood crutches, limped into view from be- 
hind a monster bank of azaleas. One limb was several 
inches shorter than the other, from the effects of hip dis" 
ease, and the imprint of habitual suffering was plainly 
visible in his pale face and the petulance of his manner. 

“Sid! Sid!” remonstrated Mrs. Carruthers, turning 
pale and red alternately, as she glanced hurriedly from the 
guests to the boy, who had stopped short, evidently sur- 
prised by his close proximity to the “county nobility.” 
But Christabel Fane advanced smilingly toward him, and 
held out her hand. 

“ You are frank, at all events,” said she. 

“Miss Fane, this is my son, Sidney,” interposed Mrs. 
Carruthers, whose face was as scarlet" as the poinsettas. 
“ Pray don’t mind him. He is an invalid.” 

“ And consequently privileged to be as insolent and dis- 
agreeable as he pleases,” said Gertrude, impatiently snip- 
ping off the scented leaves of a lemon-tree. 


52 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ It^s her that you’re not to mind, Miss Fane,” said 
Sidney Carr others, with a laugh. “ She's a vixen! And 
that’s worse than being an invalid, isn’t it? Sir Eupert,” 
nodding to the baronet, “ I beg your pardon. I wouldn’t 
have said what I did if I had supposed you were within 
hearing distance. ” 

“ Listeners never hear any good of themselves, eh?” 
said Sir Eupert, genially. “ Well, my boy, you are quite 
right. We are poor and proud, eh, Christa?” 

“ That’s what people say of you, anyhow,” observed 
Sidney, looking with a strange, eldritch intentness into the 
baronet’s face, as he leaned on his crutches. 

“ Sid, you are intolerable!” cried out Gwyneth, angrily. 
“Mamma, will you allow your guests to be insulted in 
this sort of way by a half-mannered young savage?” 

“You hold your tongue, miss, or I’ll throw one of my 
crutches at you!” said Sidney, with a grimace that twisted 
his pallid face out of all semblance of humanity. 

“ Truth is never an insult. Miss Vivian,” said Sir Eu- 
pert, smiling — and Sidney limped off, whistling under his 
breath, and followed by a scared-looking attendant, who 
carried a pile of shawls, and disappeared at a side-door 
that led from the rotunda to another suite of apartments 
at the west end of the house. 

“ Well, my dear, what do you think of our White Oaks 
neighbors?” asked Sir Eupert, as the father and daughter 
were returning home, under the leafless beech-trees. 

Christabel shrugged her shoulders, and smiled a little 
disdainfully. 

“ The mother is tolerable,” said she. “ The girls are 
showy, but vulgar. As for the little lame boy — ” 

“ Well?” 

“ I like him the best of all of them,” said Christabel, 
gravely. 

“ Indeed! He seems to me rather a spoiled urchin,” 
remarked her father. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


53 


“ But, papa, he looks so wretchedly pale and sickly. 
And then to think of being obliged to limp through one^s 
whole life-time on crutches 

“ At all events,^^ observed Sir Eupert, smiling, “ there 
seems to be no love lost between him and his sisters. 

“ Half-sisters, papa,'’ corrected Christabel. 

“ The wealth, I believe,” said Sir Eupert, “ will accrue 
to him, on attaining his majority. The girls, poor things, 
are but slenderly dowered — and, consequently, 1 suppose on 
the qui vive for wealthy marriages.” 

“ Papa!” 

“ Why not, my dear? It is the way of the world.” 

‘ ‘ I would rather remain single al] the days of my life, 
papa,” asserted Christabel, with glowing cheeks and 
sparkling eyes, “than scheme and maneuver for a rich 
husband!” 

“ But you see, Christa,” said the baronet, patting her 
cheek, “ you are not a fashionable young lady.” 

“ Captain Vivian was not rich, then?” observed Chris- 
tabel, reflectively. 

“ Captain Vivian, my dear, by all accounts, was a scamp 
of the most hopeless description,” answered Sir Eupert. 
“ Poor Mrs. Carruthers was by no means happy in her 
first married life.” 

“ I do not like the young ladies,” said Christabel, “ but 
1 suppose 1 shall not see much of them.” 

Sir Eupert looked a little disturbed. 

“ In the country, my dear,” said he, “ one ought to be 
neighborly, and 1 have invited the White Oaks family to 
lunch at the Court on Tuesday.” 

“ To lunch! Papa!” Christabel stood aghast. “ How 
can we possibly entertain them?” 

“ Miss Vivian expressed a desire to see our family pict- 
ures, Christabel, and I asked them all to come over. As 
for entertaining, that is all very simple.” 


54 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ But, papa, the plastering in the picture-gallery has all 
fallen/^ 

“We must have it patched up again, then,’’ said Sir 
Bupert, tranquilly. 

“ And our china is in a terrible condition.” 

“ I will order a set from Fane’s Bridge.” 

“ And Joan, poor thing, knows nothing about company 
refections,” pleaded Christabel. 

“ We shall do very well, my dear,” said Sir Rupert. 
“ Luncheon is not dinner, you know, and a crust of bread 
offered with a graceful welcome is better than a coldly 
given feast.” 

But Christabel Fane knew the uncertain and dilapidated 
condition of the pantry and butler’s closet better than her 
father, and her heart quailed within her as she recollected 
the splendors of White Oaks, and thought of the worm- 
eaten velvet of the dining-room chairs at home, and the 
big worn spots in the faded Turkey carpet. 

“ But, after all,” she said to herself as she folded her 
scarf and took off her gloves, “ we are Fanes of Fane 
Court, and all the wealth in the city can not earn a lineage 
and name like that. 1 will do my best to entertain papa’s 
guests, and if they are not pleased, I can not help it.” 


CHAPTER m 

“ I HOPE YOU WILL BE HAPPY !” 

The following Tuesday dawned clear and radiant, in the 
full brilliance of a late autumn day. In her secret heart 
Christabel had hoped that it might rain, for although the 
ceiling of the old picture-gallery had been mended, and 
the new set of white and gold china had arrived from 
Fane’s Bridge, and Joan had avowed her ability to prepare 
a meal “good enough for the likes of them city folks,” 
she was rather uncertain as to whether her housekeeping 
was equal to the occasion. She had oj^eiied and aired the 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


55 


drawing-room, where the curtains were faded nearly white, 
and the chairs of yellow-white satin, embroidered by Sir 
Rupert^’s grandmother, were drawn up in front of a big 
wood fire, while the spindle-legged piano and brass-de- 
corated desks and music-stands bore the stamp of half a 
century ago. Great spots of mildew had broken out on 
the walls, and in one corner the carpet was nibbled by 
mice, while the general aspect of the room was dreary in 
the extreme. Christabel thought of the summery warmth 
and perfume of the grand drawing-room at White Oaks, 
as she shivered in the chilly damp which even the blazing 
logs seemed unable to dispel. 

“ Any one might know that this room is opened only 
once in a year,’^ she thought, despairingly. “ Oh, dear, 
how mortifying it is to be poor!^^ 

And then she went into the dining-room, where Joan 
had got up a very nice little refection of lobster salad, cold 
chicken, sponge cake, made by ChristabeFs own hands> 
and some of the old wine which still remained, a relic of 
better days, in the cellars of Fane Court, while in a little 
wicker-basket, garnished with autumn leaves, were piled 
clusters of the delicious black grapes which grew on the 
giant vine at the back of the house. 

“ Ain^t it elegant, miss?’^ said old Joan, who was hov- 
ering around the table, like some elderly bird of prey,’ 
arranging napkins, and polishing glass on a towel that she 
carried over her arm. 

“ It^s very nice,^^ said Christabel, spiritlessly. 

The Carruthers^s carriage swept up to the portico at one 
precisely, and old Diggory, in his best suit, opened the 
door. 

“ Lawk, they are fine ladies, for sure!^’ said he to him- 
self, as they rustled past him in velvets and satins, with 
the glitter of gems, and the soft scent of foreign perfume, 
with Sidney limping after, in a suit of black velvet, and 
linen fastened by tiny solitaire diamonds. Sir Rupert, 


56 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


standing on the threshold of the gloomy old drawing- 
room, received them like an Arab chief of old, and Chris- 
tahel took the ladies up into her own room to remove their 
wrappings. 

“ Pray donH come up. Miss Fane,'^ said Gwyneth, pat- 
ronizingly. “ Your maid will do just as well.^^ 

Christabel could not very well explain that her maid had 
been detailed to help old Joan with the tea and coffee in 
the kitchen, so she spoke a word or two of apology, as she 
assisted Gertrude Vivian to pin a rose into her luxuriant 
auburn locks. 

Gertrude was fair, and plump, and rosy, like a magni- 
fied china dolj, with a deep dimple in her chin, and hair 
all shot with red-gold lights — a girl who would have been 
a beauty, if her eyes had been larger and more liquid. 
As it was, they were small and glittering, with a tendency 
to contraction of the eyelids, whenever she was vexed or 
annoyed, which gave them a curious similitude to the eyes 
of a serpent. “ Snake Eyes,” Sidney called her, when 
they quarreled, and it was no inappropriate title. But 
Gertrude Vivian was in a good humor to-day, and beamed 
like a May morning. 

“ Such a sweet, ancestral old place!” said she. “ I 
quite envy you this home, Miss Fane.” 

“It is not nearly so beautiful as White Oaks!” said 
Chirstabel, bluntly. 

“ But so antique!” sighed Gertrude. 

“ Yes, it is antique enough, in all conscience,” said 
Christabel. “ Shall we go down now. Miss Vivian?” 

The next half hour in the drawing-room was stiff and 
constrained enough. Sir Kupert and the gentle little 
widow chatted by the fire. Sidney limped around ex- 
amining the old furniture, and expressing his opinion of 
it very freely, while Christabel tried her best to talk to 
Gertrude and Gwyneth. She really desired to make her- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


57 


self agreeable to them, bub her attempt evidently resulted 
in failure, and the Miss Vivians were ill at ease. 

“ Don^t you find life down in the country awfully 
stupid?’^ said Gwyneth, putting up her white jeweled 
hand to conceal a yawn. 

“ I have had no experience of any other life,^’ answered 
Christabel, simply. 

“Dear me!^^ exclaimed Gertrude, “don’t you go up 
to town every season?” 

“ 1 have never visited London in my life.” 

“ How dreadful!” said Gertrude. “ But why not?” 

Christabel smiled, and colored. 

“ Papa is not rich,” said she. “We can not afford it.” 

“Oh!” said Gertrude. “But then, you know, you’ll 
never get married unless you see a little of the world.” 

“ Is marriage the chief end of life?” asked Christabel, 
a little piqued. 

“ Gwyn and Gerty think it is,” observed Sidney, with a 
malicious grin, as he paused in his circuit of the room, and 
balanced himself on his crutches directly in front of the 
sofa on which Gertrude and Christabel were sitting. 
“You just ought to hear ’em talk about the beaus! 
They’re a regular pair of spiders, with their traps all set, 
only there’s no flies fools enough to fall into ’em!” 

“ Sid, you are intolerable!” said Gwyneth, while Gerty’s 
eyes involuntarily narrowed into the serpentine glitter. 

“ 1 won’t be bullied by a pack of girls, anyhow,” said 
Sidney. 

The summons to luncheon broke upon the embarrass- 
ment of this little verbal passage at arms, only to add to 
Christabel’s agonies, for Joan broke one of the coffee cups 
the first thing, and old Diggory spilled half the salad-dress- 
ing into Mrs. Carruthers’s maroon satin lap, by his awk- 
ward waiting. 

“Lawk! lawk!” said the old man, “I humbly axes 
pardon, my lady, but I isn’t used to this sort of thing!” 


58 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


ChristabeFs face was scarlet. 

“ What are you here for, then?^^ demanded Sidney, who 
was gorging himself with lobster salad, and drinking wine 
like a young Bacchanal. Where are the footmen 

‘‘ We have no footmen, young gentleman,^’ said Sir Ru- 
pert, with a smile, as he helped Miss Vivian to a bunch of 
grapes. 

‘‘ Sidney!’^ pleaded his mother, in a low tone. 

“ There’s no harm done,” said the boy. “ 1 forgot that 
you were poor. Sir Rupert.” 

When the meal was at last over, they all sauntered out 
into the old picture-gallery, where the afternoon light 
shone in upon the ruffs and peaked beards of many an old 
knight, and the short waists and gigantic head-dresses of 
Lady Fanes dead and turned to dust. Mrs. Oarruthers 
walked first, leaning on Sir Rupert’s arm, the two girls 
followed, and Christabel and Sidney came last.’ 

“ 1 say. Miss Fane,” said the boy, looking wistfully into 
her eyes, as they passed in front of a picture, you didn’t 
mind what 1 said at luncheon, did you?” 

“ What you said at luncheon?” 

“ About your being poor, you know.” 

“No,” said Christabel, smiling. “ It hurt me a little, 
just at first, but I knew it was the truth.” 

“ I didn’t mean to be insolent,” said Sidney; “but I’m 
used to say just what I think — to the girls, you know. 
They are so hateful!” 

“ They are your sisters,” said Christabel, gently. 

“ And I wish they weren’t!” fervently ejaculated the 
boy. “ I should like you for a sister. Miss Fane, you are 
so soft-voiced and gentle; but Gwyn and Gerty are a regu- 
lar pair of vixens. Oh, I say, isn’t this a rum old place! 
I shouldn’t wonder now if there was a ghost!” 

“ Diggory declares there is,” said Christabel, laughing. 

“ Diggory? Who is he?” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


50 


“ The old man who si^illed the salad-dressing over your 
mamma’s dress.” 

‘‘ Oh/’ said Sidney. “ He don’t look much like a 
ghost-seer. Who is it? This old chap in armor?” 

“ No,” said Christabel, it’s a lady. The eleventh 
Lady Fane, who died in a sudden and mysterious man- 
ner.” 

“ Poisoned, eh?” said Sidney. 

“ Nobody knows,” answered Christabel. ‘‘ But she was 
very unhappy in her married life with Sir Alured Fane, 
and she died suddenly. That was more than seventy years 
ago, and the villagers declare that on stormy nights they 
can see her pacing up and down by the old sun-dial, wring- 
ing her hands and moaning!” 

“ Did you ever see it?” questioned Sidney. 

‘‘No.” 

“ Do you believe in it?” 

“No.” 

“ But you ought to,” said Sidney, passing one arm con- 
fidentially through Christabel’s. “ A ghost is such a jolly 
old thing to have about a house.” 

“ You might not think so, if you were here alone at 
twilight, with the wind sighing through the gallery, and 
the moonlight reflecting through yonder stained-glass case- 
ment, so that the figures would almost seem to move.” 

“ I’d risk it,” said Sidney. “ I say. Miss Fane, what 
was the reason that old Diggory of yours wouldn’t let us 
in, last week, when we called to see the sights?” 

Christabel laughed. 

“ Do you really want to know, Sidney?” said she. 

“ Of course I do.” 

“ Well, it was because a part of the ceiling had fallen, 
and old Diggory was too true to the family credit to admit 
strangers to a sight of the general dilapidation.” 

“ He must be a regular old trump,” said Sidney. 

“He is.” 


60 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“Are they going?’’ said Sidney. “ Let’s have another 
look at the Lady Fane who comes out of her frame and 
paces about on the terrace of windy nights. Do you 
know, Miss Fane, she looks a little like you?” 

“ 1 have been told so before,” said Christabel. 

And when, at six o’clock, the superb claret-colored lan- 
dau whirled up to the door to take the Carruthers family 
back to White Oaks, Sidney clung about Christabel with 
a curious persistency. 

“ I like you. Miss Fane,” said he. “I wish you would 
come often to White Oaks!” 

“ Thank you, Sidney,” said Christabel, moved by the 
strange and sudden fancy which he seemed to have taken 
to her; but Sir Rupert Fane, who had been arranging the 
robes around Mrs. Carruthers here turned around. 

“ She shall come often to White Oaks, my boy,” said 
he. “I will answer for that.” 

And when the carriage had rolled away, and he came 
back to the drawing-room, where Christabel stood in the 
twilight looking at the hery mass of burning logs on the 
hearth, she turned around, with a long sigh: 

“ I am so glad they are gone, papa!” said she. 

“ Why, Christabel? Do you not like them?” 

“No, papa. ” 

“I am sorry for that,” said Sir Rupert, taking his 
daughter’s hand in his and drawing her gently toward 
him, “ because they are going to form a ‘permanent ele- 
ment in your future life.” 

“ Papa, how can that possibly be?” eagerly demanded 
Christabel. 

“ Mrs. Carruthers has promised to become my future 
wife.” 

“ Oh, papa!” 

Christabel involuntarily shrunk back with bated breath 
and a face pale as ashes. 

“ My dear, it is as much on your account as mine,” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


61 


urged Sir Rupert. “ She is gentle and lovely, and will 
readily accord you a daughter's place in her heart. And 
you are in sore need of advantages which 1 can not give 
you. A home at White Oaks will give you a position 
which far excels our genteel beggary at Fane Court. You 
can be presented to London society, given a glimpse of the 
world, taken upon the Continent— 

“1 don^t want to leave Fane Court, papa,’^ sobbed 
Christabel. “ I don^t want to be presented in London, or 
travel on the Continent! And oh, papa, I don't want to 
lose you!" 

‘‘ My dearest child—" 

But she broke from his detaining grasp, and rushed out 
of the room, seeking the dusky solitude of the old picture- 
gallery, and sinking down to weep out the anguish of her 
sorely tried young heart at the feet of the very Lady Fane 
who had died of poison, and whose pictured face was so like 
her own. 

But in five minutes she came back again, the traces of 
tears dried upon her cheeks, her large, wistful eyes lifted 
mournfully to her father's face. 

“ Papa," said she, ‘‘ forgive me for my burst of childish 
passion just now. I will not offend again. I— I con- 
gratulate you, and I hope you may be very happy!" 

“ My own Christa!" Sir Rupert drew her tenderly to 
his heart. “ I thought you would have been glad!" 

“Not glad, papa! No daughter can be glad to know 
that a stranger is about to usurp the place of a dead moth- 
er in her father's heart — but I will try to be resigned. 1 
hope you may be happy, papa!" 

And Christabel Fane crept up to her own room, where 
the faded roses that had dropped from Gerty Vivian’s red- 
gold hair lay wilted on the floor, and a faint scent of musk 
from Gwyneth's handkerchief yet burdened the air. 

She opened the window, and drew the curtains to let in 


62 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


fresh, uncontaminated air. She fluug the withered rosen 
out upon the lawn. 

“ False and artificial like the nisei ves!^^ she wailed. 
“ Oh, what will be the end of all this?^’ 

And flinging herself, without undressing, on the bed, 
she cried herself to sleep. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

DOMESTIC DISSENSIONS. 

“ Oh, papa! you have sold Fane Court 

Christabel Fane was standing by the old sun-dial in the 
level orange glow of the winter sunset, her cheeks flushed 
with the long walk she had taken, her eyes flashing like 
diamonds .drowned in wine. It was the day before that 
appointed for her father’s wedding, a brilliant January 
day, with the frozen snow all sparkling on hill and mea- 
dow and the air blue, frosty, and full of exhilarating fresh- 
ness. 

“ I have sold it, Christabel,” acknowledged Sir Rupert, 
almost quailing for the moment before the reproachful 
fire of his daughter’s eyes. “ It was necessary, believe 
me, my love. The old place was too heavily loaded down 
with mortgages for me ever to be able to redeem it.” 

“ But it was the home we have inherited from three 
hundred years of ancestry!” cried out Christabel, unable 
to repress the angry outburst of her surprise and resent- 
ment. 

“ My ancestors have done me no great favor in leaving 
me an inheritance loaded with debt,” retorted Sir Rupert, 
himself beginning to be annoyed, “ and it is my business 
to do the best I can for myself. Mr. Vansittart has paid 
me a good price, and it never seems to occur to you, Chris- 
tabel, that I might stand in need of a little money to meet 
all these new expenses. Besides, Louisa does not like the 
Court, and — ” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


nn 

Christabel turned silently away, the scarlet flush dying 
into pallor on her cheek. This was but one of the train of 
endless sequences that seemed destined to follow on her fa- 
ther’s second marriage. Well, so be it. IShe was but a 
cipher, it seemed, in the family councils. Her opinion 
mattered but little, one way or the other. The Court had 
been sold to a wealthy contractor, who proposed to raze 
the age-mossed buildings to the ground and erect a modern 
pile in their place, which should outshine all the show 
places of the country, and the Fanes would soon be forgot- 
ten on their native soil. It was a bitter cup to drink, but 
Christabel felt that she was draining it to the very dregs. 

At White Oaks the proposed alliance had made quite a 
sensation when it was broached at flrst. 

“ Mamma to be married a third time!” cried Gwyneth, 
angrily. “ And to that old idiot of a Sir Eupert! Well, 
the race of fools is not all extinct yet!” 

‘‘Lady Fane won’t sound so badly,” remarked Ger- 
trude, reflectively. “ But 1 don’t see any other advantage 
to be gained.” 

“ 1 do,” said Sidney, who was lying on a sofa, pretend- 
ing to read. “ 1 shall get a sister that is worthy of the 
name now! I like Christa Fane. ” 

Gwyneth made a grimace expressive of extreme distaste. 

“ 1 suppose we shall have to have that girl up here 
now,” said she. “ As if two girls weren’t enough in a 
family!” 

“ And a good deal too many, if all girls were like you,” 
supplemented Sid. “But Christabel Fane isn’t, thanks 
to goodness!” 

“Will you hold your tongue?” said Gwyneth, sharply. 

It was the last night at the old Court — a night clear and 
cold, and irradiated with the silver light of a full moon. 
The trunks were packed and corded, the echoing picture- 
galleries rifled of their melancholy old faces, and all Chris- 
tabel’s few personal possessions put together for removal 


64 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


to White Oaks, immediately after the wedding on the mor- 
row. Sir Eupert was spending the evening with Mrs. Car- 
r lithe rs, and Joan and Diggory were moving about at their 
tasks, while Anne Hartsuff was in her young lady^s room 
packing the last boxes. 

“ Who be that coming?’’ said Joan, flattening her ven- 
erable nos3 against the narrow window-panes, at the sound 
of footsteps on the hard, frozen snow. 

“It be Master Sid!” answered Diggory, looking over 
her shoulder. 

And sure enough, the next minute the impatient tap- 
ping of Sidney Carruthers’s crutch was heard tapping 
against the door. Diggory made haste to admit him. 

“ I’ve been looking for Christabel,” said Sidney, warm- 
ing his slender, transparent hands before the fire; “ but I 
can’t find her anywhere. Anne says she’s gone down into 
the old picture-gallery, but I looked in and called twice. 
Isn’t it a spooky place, though, by moonlight? Then I 
got out of the open window and ran around here. I say, 
Diggory, it looks like a general breaking up here, don’t 
it?” 

“That it do. Master Sid,” said the old cook. “Have 
a sit down by the fire, and a drink of Diggory’s mulled 
ale, won’t ’ee?” 

“ Well, I don’t mind if I do,” responded Sid, “ it’s as 
cold as Greenland in this old ruin of a place, and I’ve had 
a jolly long walk from our place. I suppose Christabel 
won’t be long?” 

Old Diggory stamped slowly out to get some more wood 
for the tire, but presently he returned at a much more 
rapid pace, and a white, scared countenance. 

“What’s the matter, old Dig?” demanded Sidney, who 
was basking in front of the fire. “ Seen a ghost, eh?” 

“ That’s just what I has seen. Master Sid!” faltered 
Diggory, with a scared glance over his shoulder. “ It’s 
the poisoned lady a- walkin’ and walkin’ around the sun- 


LOVE Al^D JEALOUSY. 


65 


dial, a-wringin’ her hands, and all dressed in black! And 
black means a death in the Fane family, afore the year is 
out! Come and look for eeself. Master Sid, and you, too, 
old Joan! Ye^ll believe me noio 

For Joanns skepticism on the subject of the Fane Court 
ghost had been an everlasting bone of discussion in the 
kitchen. 

Joan scrambled to her feet with preternatural agility. 
Sidney Carruthers grasped at his crutches, with a face 
somewhat paler than his usual wont, and together they 
followed Diggory out across the paved kitchen court to an 
angle of the building from which they could command an 
uninterrupted view of the front of the house, where the 
ancient sun-dial glimmered white in the moonlight, and 
the giant hemlocks flung a circle of black shadows across 
its disk. 

Sidney uttered an exclamation of terror, and dropped 
one of his crutches. 

Joan Ditchett threw her apron over her head, with a 
cry of: 

“ Good Lord defend us! It^s F ghost! If’s t’ ghost !^’ 

For there, sure enough, pacing around and around the 
sun-dial, in the silver glow of the moonlight, was a tall fig- 
ure, robed in black, wringing its hands! 

“ ghost, t^ ghost !’^ squeaked old Joan, in a tone un- 
consciously raised above its usual monotonous snuffle. At 
the sound of her voice the figure paused a second, and then 
hurried swiftly toward the little shivering group in the 
angle of the wall. 

“ Stop screaming, you old fool!” exclaimed Sidney, giv- 
ing Joan an energetic shake. “ IFs Christabel! Don^t 
you see?” 

“ It^s t’ ghost!” asserted the old woman, shaking all 
over in a perfect palsy of terror. But Sidney hurried for- 
ward to meet the supposed Lady Alured with outstretched 
hands. 


66 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Christa! You here, out in the cold?^^ cried he. 

“ I — I was onlj? bidding good-bye to the dear old place, 
faltered Christabel, the tears shining on her cheeks. “ 1 
am sorry 1 frightened you.'’^ 

At the familiar accents of Miss Fane^s voice, Joan vent- 
ured to emerge from the partial eclipse of her apron and 
dress-skirt, although her face was still the color of ashes. 

“ It loas a ghost. Miss Christabel,^’ said she, solemnly. 
“ You might a-been there, too, but t' ghost of Lady 
Alured was there, as sure as we is both alive!” 

“ Nonsense, Joan!” cried Christabel. 

And to this assertion Diggory boldly subscribed his testi- 
mony also. 

“ And there’ll be a death in the family afore t’ 
twel’month is over, see if there ain’t,” added the old serv- 
ing-man, with a face as pale as the moon itself. 

‘‘ Christabel,” said the boy, as he followed her into the 
little sitting-room, where the fire burned with a dull flicker, 
and the only seat was one or two packing-boxes, “ why are 
you crying?” 

“ Oh, Sidney, I am so wretched!” said the girl, bursting 
into tears on his shoulder. “ I am losing all — all to-night, 
father, home, everything!” 

And her voice broke down into a sob. 

Sidney Carruthers put his arms caressingly around her 
neck. 

“ But you’re gaining something you don’t count upon, 
Christabel,” said he. “A brother who loves you dearly. 
Cheer up, dear — I know the girls are a pair of cantanker- 
ous young cats; but mamma is nice, and 1 — oh, you’ll find 
me splendid! We’ll make up an opposition party, you 
and 1, Christabel, and we’ll rule the house to suit our- 
selves. There’s such a nice little octagon room at the 
Oaks that we’ll have fitted up for a study, and you shall 
practice your music there while 1 do my lessons; and if 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 67 

Gwyn or Gerty put their heads inside the door, we’ll know 
the reason why. ’’ 

% :{: Hi % ^ ^ % 

Married and gone! 

It was a great while before Ohristabel Fane could realize 
that her old life at the Court was over — that she was now 
a member of the motley family at White Oaks! The new 
Lady Fane had kissed her tenderly before they started away 
on their wedding-trip to Paris. 

“ 1 feel as if I had a new daughter, Ohristabel,” she 
said, caressingly. “ Be sure you make yourself entirely 
at home at the Oaks while we are gone. Henceforth you 
are as much my child as Gwyneth or Gertrude, or even 
little Sid. And Sid loves you dearly, my darling.” 

But Ohristabel had not been an inmate of the gray-stone 
palace for many days before she made the discovery that 
“ making herself at home ” was not such an easy affair as 
might have been supposed. 

Gwyneth was cold and supercilious, Gerty actually dis- 
agreeable, and Ohristabel was soon made to comprehend 
that to her step-sisters she was a decidedly unwelcome 
member of the household. 

“ Sidney,” said she one day, “ 1 don’t think your sis- 
ters like me!” 

“ I know they don’t,” said Sidney, looking intently 
down at a kite which he was fashioning out of pink tissue 
paper and slender strips of wood. “ They don’t like any 
one but themselves. Never did!’^ 

“ But, Sid,” faltered Ohristabel, with a quivering lip, 
“ it makes me very unhappy — ” 

“ More goose you!” said Sidney. “ What do you care 
for them 9 We’re always squabbling here — it makes things 
lively!” 

“ But, Sid, you don’t understand. This is your home. 
You have a right here, but 1 am only an intruder,” 


G8 


LOVE Al^Tf JEALOUSY. 


Sidney Carruthers laid down his kite and looked gravely 
at Christabel. 

“ That^s where you are mistaken, Chrissy,’^ said he. 
“ They are intruders. They’ve no right here. Old Vivi- 
an, their father, left ’em nothing but debt and disgrace. 
They are living on my father’s money now. Just wait 
until I’m twenty-one, that’s all. See if 1 don’t make a 
clearance of ’em quicker than lightning! Mamma’s a 
great deal too indulgent with ’em, a pair of stuck-up snap- 
ping-bugs! Don’t you mind ’em, Chrissy! I love you, 
and 1 am master here!” 

In spite of these assurances, however, it was only a day 
or two before Christabel found herself on the verge 6f open 
warfare with her new relatives. 

The apartment in which she and her stanch friend Sid- 
ney oftenest sat was the blue drawing-room, a beautiful lit- 
tle room, facing the south, with a large bay-window draped 
with blue silk and festoons of cloudy white lace, a carpet 
of pale blue, and low, gilded furniture, covered with puffed 
blue satin. The walls were covered with water-color 
sketches; and a satin-wood secretaire, opposite the win- 
dow, contained Sidney Carruthers’s favorite books, and a 
gilt-bound diary which he wrote in when he was in the 
mood, and neglected when he was not. 

Sid,” said Christabel, one day, “ wouldn’t it be pretty 
if we had a stand of plants in this sunny window? Don’t 
you think it looks rather bare?” 

“ Perhaps it does,” said Sidney, viewing the embrasure 
with a critical eye. “ There used to be a statue of Diana 
there — a lovely alabaster thing, on a pedestal. But Gwyn 
wanted it in her window, and off she walked it one day, 
without so much as saying, ‘ By your leave!’ Gwyn will 
never suffer for lack of impudence — not she!” 

“ Something is needed there,” said Christabel, standing 
with folded hands before the window. “ Do you think we 
might have the little jardiniere with the Dresden vase from 


LOVE AN'D JEALOUSY. 


69 


the library? It is overcrowded there, and that lovely 
painted vase, with a fan palm from the conservatory in it, 
would be exquisite!^’ 

“So it would assented Sidney. “Wonder I never 
thought of it before! I declare, Chrissy, youVe got a 
taste! Ring the bell and get Peters to bring ^em.'’^ 

And both Christabel and Sidney were delighted with the 
success of their decorative experiment. 

An hour later Christabel was dressing for dinner in her 
own room, a pretty apartment, all lilac and silver, in the 
west wing of the house. She had put on her simple gray 
silk, with a sash and ribbon of cherry color, and sent Anne 
Hartsuff down to the conservatory for a bunch of carna- 
tions for her hair. 

“ What a luxury it is to have all the real flowers one 
wants !^'’ she thought, as, sitting down before the cheerful 
anthracite fire, she waited for the maid^s return. 

In a minute or two Anne hurried back, very fiushed and 
indignant. 

“ IVe got no flowers, miss,^^ cried she. 

“ No flowers! But there are plenty of carnations there! 
I saw them only this morning. 

“ I know it, miss,^^ said Anne, “ but Miss Gertrude was 
there, and she stopped Andrew just as he was a-goin^ to cut 
^em, and said there was a deal too many flowers cut, and 
he must let ^em alone. 

Christabel colored. 

“ Miss Gertrude could not have known they were for 
me,^^ said she. 

“ But she did, miss. I told her they was for my young 
lady, and she looked right over my head, as if I was the 
dirt under her feet, and says she, ‘ Do you hear, Andrew? 
No more flowers are to be cut, except by my order !^ So I 
came away, miss — what else could I do?’^ 

“ Nothing else, Anne,^^ said Christabel, in a stifled 
voice. “.You are quite right. Just pin a bow of cherry 


70 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


ribbon into my hair. I shall do very well without any 
flowers to-night. 

“And that conservatory runnin^ om* with 'em! I de- 
clare, miss, it is a shame!" said Anne. “ And there ain't 
a servant or helper about the house but hates them Vivian 
young ladies with their domineering, insolent ways!" 

“ Hush, Anne!" said Christabel, with an air of quiet 
authority, “ you must not talk so! Perhaps things will 
be different when papa and Lady Fane come back." 

And she went down-stairs, pausing a minute or two on 
the broad stairway to check the tumultuous beating of her 
heart. 

“ How foolish I am to allow myself to be annoyed by 
such trifles," she told herself. “ 1, that had determined 
to reconcile myself to anything and everything, so long as 
papa is happy. 1 will not mind Gertrude Vivian's whims 
for the future — and, after all, what difference can it possi- 
bly make whether I wear flowers or ribbons in my hair?" 

And she went smiling down into the little blue drawing- 
room. 

Peters had just lighted the lamps, a cluster of moon- 
white globes hanging from a blue enameled chandelier, all 
twinkling with crystal chains and pendants. Sidney Car- 
ruthers sat by a student lamp at a small table, studying 
out a dissected map. He looked up with a welcoming face 
as Christabel entered. 

“You look as sweet as a rose, Chrissy," said he. 
“ Come here and give me a kiss." 

But as Christabel advanced, her face brightening re- 
sponsive to his own, Gwyneth Vivian swept in from an op- 
posite door. 

“ Sidney," cried she, angrily, “ where's my Dresden 
vase? The one that was in the library?" 

“ Your Dresden vase," sarcasticallv repeated Sidney. 
“ I'd like to know what Act of Parliament made it yours?" 

“ Where is it, I say?" imperiously repeated Gwyneth, 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


71 


standing in the middle of the room, with her blue silk 
dress sweeping the floor in straight, artistic folds, and a 
costly white lace scarf pinned on her shoulders with a 
cluster of sapphires. 

I had it put in the bay-window, Gwyneth,^^ interposed 
Christabel. “ 1 thought — . j 

“Foz^had it put there insolently repeated Gwyneth. ' 
“ And may 1 ask who authorized you to meddle so freely 
with the furniture and belongings of this house?^’ 

“ Look here, Gwyn,^^ put in Sidney, “ no more of this. 
Christabel has as good a right here as you have, and she 
shall do as she pleases 

Gwyneth turned to her half-brother with a glitter of 
concentrated scorn in her eyes. 

“You horrid, spoiled little wretch!^^ said she, “ Ifll 
trouble you not to interfere. It is only when mamma is 
at home that you are allowed to ride rough-shod over 
the whole of the household. I put the jardiniere and vase 
in the library, and I choose that they shall remain there. ” 

“ 1 choose that they sha^nH, then,^^ said Sidney, two red 
spots flaming up into his temples, as he rose and balanced 
himself on his crutches. 

“ We shall see,” said Gwyneth, striking the small silver 
call-bell on the table. “ Peters,” to the footman, who 
presently answered the summons, “ take that Dresden vase 
back to the library.” 

“ Peters,” said Sidney Carruthers, in a voice choked 
with passion, “ touch it at your peril!” 

“ Sidney! Sidney!” remonstrated Christabel, in an 
agony of distress, while poor Peters stood staring from one 
to the other, uncertain which to obey. 

“ Do you hear me, Peters?” said Gwyneth. 

“ Yes, miss;” and Peters removed the pot of fan palms 
from the painted vase, preparatory to its removal. 

“ Peters,” said Sidney, in a very low and gentle voice, 
although he was white to the very roots of his hair. 


72 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Sir?’’ said Peters. 

“ Have the goodness to let me take that vase for a mo- 
ment!” 

“ Certainly, sir,” said Peters. 

It was a large and beautiful vase of the finest Dresden 
china, painted by hand in garlands of roses, with birds 
and butterflies represented in their natural colors, hover- 
ing around the half-open buds, and Sidney Oarruthers took 
it deliberately into his hands, and flung it with all his force 
against the burnished brass fender, shivering it into a 
thoub’and pieces. 

There,” said Sidney, quietly, “ make the most of 
your vase, Gwyneth Vivian. You have had your way, and 
1 have had mine.” 

“You hateful little dwarf!” cried Gwyneth, bursting 
into tears of anger, “ how dared you?” 

“ I shall dare to do more than that if you don’t leave off 
tormenting Christabel Fane,.” said the boy. 

“I am to thank Christabel Fane for this,” exclaimed 
Gwyneth, her eyes flashing baleful gleams toward the 
young girl, who stood pale and terrified by Sidney Car- 
ruthers’s side. “ Mamma’s beautiful vase that she brought 
from Dresden herself. What will she say?” 

And she turned and hurried out of the room, too indig- 
nant to remain longer in the presence of her half-brother. 

“Oh, Sid! Sid! I am so sorry,” cried out Christabel, 
herself beginning to weep. 

“ I am not,” said Sidney, quietly. “ One has got to 
put those girls in their places and keep them there. 
Peters, pick up those bits of broken crockery.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE FUNERAL AT WHITE OAKS. 

The little domestic incident of the Dresden china vase 
was but the forerunner of a regular internecine warfare 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


73 


between the ill-assorted members of the White Oaks 
family. Nor were matters much better when Sir Rupert 
and Lady Fane returned from the Continent. Poor Lady 
Fane, although her children all appealed to her, and made 
her wretched with their constant wranglings, had no more 
authority than a painted picture, and could only take ref- 
uge in tears and remonstrances, which were alike unheeded 
by Sidney and her daughters. Sir Rupert looked on with 
surprise and annoyance. 

“ Christabel,’^ he said, one night, to his daughter, as he 
met her wrapped in a sealskin coat which had been her 
step-mother’s gift, pacing up and down a long evergreen 
avenue in the gray February twilight, “ I am afraid you 
are not happy here.” 

Christabel hesitated a second or so before she answered, 
in a low voice: 

“ No, papa, I am not.” 

“ Is there anything 1 can do to better matters?” 

“No, papa,” with a little sigh. 

“ 1 am sorry, Christabel, very sorry,” said Sir Rupert, 
sadly. ‘ ‘ 1 had thought things would have turned out very 
differently. But you must not despair. Time will work 
wonders. These Vivian girls can not help being con- 
quered after awhile, by your sweetness and patience. Be- 
lieve me, my darling, I am not blind to all that you suffer 
and endure.” 

But as the days went by, there seemed to be no ameliora- 
tion of matters. Christabel grew weary of attempting to 
conciliate the two despotic and arrogant daughters of her 
father’s wife, and took refuge at last in a quiet dignity and 
reserve that Gwyneth and Gertrude called haughtiness. 

“ She isn’t half as haughty as you are!” Sidney said, 
angrily, when he heard the terms applied to Christabel by 
Gertrude. “ If I were she, I wouldn’t have a word to say 
to either one of you.” 

‘‘ No, of course you will set yourself up in her defense!’^ 


74 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


sneered Gwyneth. “ It’s a pity you are not a little older, 
so that you could marry her! Really, you’re quite a 
knight-errant!” 

“1 am hot a cackling woman, anyhow!” retorted Sid- 
ney. “ And, talking of getting married. Miss Gwyneth 
V ivian ” (he always applied Gwyneth’s paternal name to 
her when he wished to make himself especially aggravat- 
ing), “you hadn’t better send any of your beaus to me 
for a character! 1 might give ’em an insight into your 
true character!” 

“ INobody would pay any attention to what you said, 
you ugly little viper!” snapped Gwyneth. 

“I’m the heir of White Oaks, anyhow,” said Sidney, 
with a quiet malice, “ and you’ll see how quick you and 
Gerty will clear out of here when once I come into my 
own!” 

“ Children! children!” remonstrated Lady Fane, pite- 
ously, “why '«fj/?Z you make me wretched by quarreling 
the whole time?” 

“ I won’t be bullied by Gwyn and Gerty?” said Sidney. 

“ And 1 won’t fall down and worship a haughty beggar 
like Ohristabel Fane,” added Gwyneth, as she walked out 
of the room. 

“ I am sure I don’t know what I shall do,” said Lady 
Fane, wringing her plump white hands. 

“ I’ll tell you, mamma,” said Sidney, putting his arm 
coaxingly around her waist; “go up to London early in 
the spring, take a big house somewhere, create a tremend- 
ous splurge, and get the Vivian girls married off, then you 
will see how jolly all the rest of us will get along together, 
you and me, and Chrissy and Sir Rupert. ” 

Lady Fane smiled in spite of her distress. 

“ Oh, my dear,” said she, “ I wish I could get your sis- 
ters well settled in the world.” 

“ Stop a minute, mamma. They are not my sisters,” 
said Sidney. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


75 


“ Your half-sisters, then. But I fear it will be a diffi- 
cult task, there are so many girls introduced every season, 
and Gwyneth and Gertrude have no fortunes 

“ They have quite as much as they deserve,'^ observed 
Sidney, with a grimace. 

“ Well, weTl see what can be done,’^ said Lady Pane. 

She broached the subject that very afternoon when they 
were all in the great drawing-room, Gertrude and Gwyneth 
looking over a box of new books which had just arrived 
from London, and Christabel embroidering in the window- 
seat. 

“ Should you like an early season in London this year, 
girls?’^ said she. 

“ Oh, yes, mammal'^ cried out Gertrude. 

“ Anything to get away from here,^^ added Gwyneth, 
opening a book and turning carelessly over its pages. 

“Very well,'^ said Lady Fane, complacently. “Til 
write to the agent to take a house early in May — a good 
large house, and we’ll all go up. Should you like it, 
Christabel, my dear.^” 

Christabel’s large dark eyes were full of responsive grati- 
tude. 

“ 1 should be delighted, dear Lady Fane,” said she. 

“Oh!” said Gwyneth, dropping her book, “ is Christa- 
bel to go?” 

“ Certainly,” said Lady Fane, with the utmost au- 
thority that she was capable of assuming. “ Wherever we 
go, Christabel goes too. She’s as much my daughter as 
you or Gertrude!” 

“ 1 declare,” said Gerty, with the serpent-like contrac- 
tion of her eyelids, “ all this is quite a promotion for Chris- 
tabel!” 

“ It is, indeed,” said Christabel, coming forward and 
kissing her step-mother’s kind cheek. 

“ Her wardrobe will be quite an expense,” added 
Gwyenth. “ For she has really nothing now.” 


76 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ 1 shall attend to all that/" said Lady Fane, quietly. 

“ One would think that she and Sid might just as well 
remain at White Oaks,’' suggested Gertrude. '‘Only 
think, three girls all coming out at once! It’s enough to 
frighten everybody away from the house.” 

“We shall all go up together,” reasserted Lady Fane, 
glancing at her watch. “ Come, Gwyneth, go and get 
ready. The carriage will be at the door directly.” 

“ Mamma,” said Gwyneth, “ I do think you are a fool. 
Let Christabel and Sidney stay here this season.” 

Christabel looked at Gwyneth in surprise. 

“ Oh, Gwyneth!” said she, “ how can you speak so in- 
solently to your mother?” 

“ She don’t mean anything, my dear,” apologized Lady 
Fane, coloring scarlet under the sting of Gwyneth’s words; 
“ it’s her way.” 

“1 do mean it!” broke in Gwyneth, angrily. “ Mam- 
ma is a fool! And 1 don’t choose to be dictated to, and 
lectured by Christabel Fane upon any subject whatever.” 

“ Come, Gwyneth, come!” Lady Fane rose to her feet, 
nervously apprehensive of a scene. “We shall have just 
time to put on our things. Sir Kupert does not like to be 
kept waiting.” 

“ I shall not drive to-day,” said Gwyneth, sullenly. 

“ But you promised Sir Rupert.” 

“ 1 don’t care what I promised!” retorted the undutiful 
daughter. 

“ Dear Gwyneth, do come,” pleaded Lady Fane. “ It 
is such a lovely afternoon, and — ” 

“ I tell you I shall not drive to-day,” answered 
Gwyneth, reseating herself, and beginning once more to 
turn over the books. 

Lady Fane ventured to remonstrate no further, but rang 
for the maid to bring her wrappings, and in a few minutes 
the barouche drove away, containing only Sir Rupert and 
Lady Fane, and Sidney Carruthers. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


77 


“ I do wish Gwyneth would have come/^ sighed Lady 
Fane. 

“ I think it^s a deal jollier without Gwyn!^’ asserted 
Sidney, leaning luxuriously back among the cushions. 
“ Gwyn is always grumbling if the sun is too hot, or not 
hot enough; or if the wind blows from the east, when she 
wants it to blow from the west. She^s one of the kind 
that is never suited.’^ 

It was nearly an hour afterward when Ohristabel put on 
her hat and sacque for a little walk in the grounds. She 
had been sitting in the steam-heated atmosphere of the 
drawing-room, until it seemed to her that the keenest 
north-east blast would be a relief, and she longed to ex- 
change the heavy perfumes that floated from the glass- 
roofed conservatory for the dry smell of fallen leaves, and 
the aromatic breath of pines and hemlocks. In all the 
broad acres of White Oaks, she had never found any walk 
that suited her as well as the old avenue of beeches at Fane 
Court; but there was a little wilderness of evergreens at 
some distance from the house where the fir-trees had been 
allowed to grow according to their own wild will, and a 
path of tamaracks was entirely shielded from the view. 
Hither Ohristabel often came, and here, at least, she was 
certain of no intrusion. 

The level March sun hung low in the horizon, a glitter- 
ing sphere of gold; the bleak landscape was momentarily 
irradiated in its orange glory. A fresh breeze stirred the 
tall Norway spruces that fringed the drive on either side, 
and Ohristabel Fane paused a moment on a little knoll, or 
eminence, to watch the sunset with a feeling of exhilara- 
tion that was born of the keen air, the yellow light, and 
the stern beauty of hill and vale. As she stood drinking 
in the sparkling oxygen, the thunder of carriage-wheels on 
the macadamized drive reached her ears. 

“ They are coming back, she thought. ‘^I shall see 


78 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


the barouche when it turns the curve where the statue of 
Niobe is.^’ 

Listlessly she waited, scarcely knowing why, and in 
almost another second the horses rushed in sight, speeding 
with incredible swiftness across the narrow avenue. But 
in that brief interval Christabel had had a momentary 
glimpse of her father’s pale and agonized face as he clung 
to the side of the barouche, and perceived that the coach- 
man’s seat was empty. 

“ Great heavens!” cried Christabel, a pang of horror 
transfixing her heart, “ they are running away!” 

Flying across the park, in a diagonal direction, she came 
out once more on the drive, some eighth of a mile further 
on, just in time to see the fear-maddened horses make a 
sidelong swerve that threw the barouche against a marble 
group at the side of the wood, and to witness her father 
and Lady Fane fiung out on one side of the road, and Sid- 
ney on the other, while the horses flew onward, dragging 
the splintered remnants of the carriage after them. 

Christabel uttered a shriek that seemed to rend the very 
heavens above, and rushed down the hill, to kneel at her 
father’s feet, crying out : 

“ Papa! papa! do speak to me, papa!” 

But Sir Eupert Fane had spoken his last word on earth. 
In the violence of his fall, his head had struck against the 
trunk of a young oak, producing concussion of the brain, 
and death had resulted almost instantly. There was no 
oozing of blood, no disfiguring scar; only a rigid, white 
face, with glazed eyes staring up at the dazzling sky, and 
Christabel Fane knew in an instant, little accustomed as 
she was to the presence of the Fell Destroyer, that she was 
an orphan. 

Oh, papa, papa!” she groaned, burying her face in 
her hands. “ Oh, God! is this a frightful dream!” 

The coachman came limping up at this moment, his 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 79 

pale face dabbled with blood, and helped along by the foot- 
man, who had only been slightly bruised. 

‘^Lord help us!^^ cried Simonds, the coachman, as his 
scared eyes fell on Sir Eupert Faiie^s face, “he’s dead! 
And my lady and Master Sid, be they hurt bad? Oh, Miss 
Christabel, come away; that is no sight for a young lady’s 
eyes to look upon! Kun, Yorick,” to the footman, “ up 
to the house and get help! I told my lady them horses 
wasn’t fit for Christians to ride behind, but she would 
have ’em, because their tails were so long and fine, and 
they held their heads so high! Oh, dear, oh, dear!” 

Lady Fane was severely hurt internally, and breathed 
with difficulty when they lifted her up, nor was she suffi- 
ciently conscious to speak or notice any one. As for poor 
Sidney Carruthers, his arm was broken, and he had re- 
ceived a contusion on the side of the head. 

At the house all was in confusion. Gwyneth and Ger- 
trude were going from one series of hysterics into another, 
and no one person seemed to have their wits about them, 
until Dr. Ken ward, the wise old doctor from Fane’s Bridge, 
arrived on the scene. 

“ My child,” he said to Christabel, who still hung pale 
and trembling over the bed upon which they had laid Sir 
Eupert Fane, “ your father is gone to his eternal home!” 

“ 1 know it, sir,” said’ Christabel, with white lips and 
quivering voice. 

“ Leave him, then, to his rest, and be useful to the liv- 
ing. Lady Fane needs you — and Sidney. Those girls are 
of no more use than a pair of dolls!” 

And Christabel silently obeyed him. 

The first two or three days after the accident were like a 
terrible nightmare. In after-years Christabel Fane looked 
back on them with a thrill of horror that never entirely 
subsided out of her heart. People came and went, all the 
hideous paraphernalia of a state funeral filled the house, 
while the widowed Lady Fane lay at the point of death, 


80 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


and Sidney Carriithers was raving in delirium. Lady 
Fane’s own maid was a capable and excellent nurse, and 
Christabel was consequently enabled to devote herself en- 
tirely to Sidney, who called for her perpetually, and evinced 
the extremest impatience if she left his bedside but for a 
moment. Not until the morning of the funeral did he re- 
cover consciousness. 

“ 1 remember all now,” he said, his large black eyes in- 
tently looking into Christabel’s. “ I know why you wear 
that black dress and look so pale. The horses took fright 
at Farmer Glossin’s new windmill — we were all thrown 
out. Sir Eupert is dead — mamma — oh, Christabel, do not 
tell me that she is dead, too!” 

“ No, Sidney, not dead. Very — very ill, but not dead!” 
whispered Christabel. 

“ Thank God for that!” said the lad, fervently. “You 
are not going to leave me, Christabel.^” 

“ Only for a little while, Sidney,” said the girl. “ Oh, 
let me be with papa while 1 can.” 

“ It’s the day of Sir Eupert ’s funeral, Master Sidney,” 
whispered Anne Hartsuff. “ I’ll stay with you while Miss 
Christabel’s gone.” 

“ I understand,” said Sidney. “You will come back, 
Christabel?” 

She nodded “ yes,” and left him. 

It was the grandest funeral that had ever been cele- 
brated under the roof at White Oaks. All the country 
gentry were there to signify respect to the memory of one 
who had stood high among them once — all the old retainers 
of Fane Court as well. The grand hall, in which the black 
velvet-draped coffin was placed was crowded full, save 
where the undertaker’s man kept a narrow pathway clear 
for the benefit of those who came up to look upon the 
white, composed features of the dead man. 

Old Diggory was there with Joan Ditchett at his side, 
both clad in sober black. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


81 


“ 1 telled young Master Sid as the ghost of Lady Alured 
didn^t walk for nothing,’" said the old man. “ There’s 
always a death within the year — and Sir Rupert didn’t tarry 
long when the poisoned lady beckoned to him to come. 
Ah, welladay, we must all die, and Sir Rupert was a 
good fifteen year younger than I be!” 

Close behind Diggory trudged an old woman in faded 
and travel-soiled garments, with gray elf-locks escaping 
from under a tattered quilted hood, and toothless, ^mum- 
bling jaws. The undertaker’s man half hesitated as 
Mother Benoit approached, but a funeral is hardly the 
place to draw distinctions as to caste, and he stood by 
without interposing, as she bent over the coffin, almost 
touching the high-bred pale features with her falcon beak 
of a nose, as she scrutinized the sleeper. 

“ Dead — dead — dead!” muttered Mother Benoit! “ And 
1 am too late! Well, well, never mind. He is dead — and 
Pauline is dead — and the question 1 would fain have asked 
him, I must put to his bonny-faced daughter. It’s just as 
well, just as well! For Mother Benoit never let go her 
grip yet!” 

Passing out at the opposite door, the old crone mingled 
with the crowd without, and looking furtively around her, 
stole up a side staircase, left momentarily unguarded by 
the servants, who were clustering around the apartments 
where the funeral obsequies were transpiring. 

“ I may as well have a peep at this grand house, while I 
am about it,” said Mother Be'noit to herself. “And 
never a better time than now. ” 

Creeping with silent feet from room to room, she passed 
like a gliding shadow into the apartment that Gwyneth 
Vivian’s maid had just left, in order to peep over the bal- 
cony rail at the solemn pageant now assembling on the 
terrace in front of the house — the carrying out of Sir 
Rupert Fane’s corpse. 

^‘Ah-h-h!'^ muttered the hag. “Bureau-drawers-- 


82 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


secretaries — chiffoniers, all open! Very careless of the 
fine ladies of White Oaks! Now I wonder what they may 
keep in their elegant hiding-places!^^ 

Fifteen minutes later she hobbled down again, and tak- 
ing her way through the least frequented avenue of the 
park, stopped at the ornamented gray-stone lodge, where 
the porter’s wife, in her best black stuff gown, .was stand- 
ing at the door, watching for the funeral procession to 

go by. . 

Save and bless you, ma^ani,’^ said Mother Benoit, with 
her best obeisance, “ could you lend a poor woman a 
needle an’ thread just to sew up a rent in the skirt of my 
gown? I’ll do as much for you, ma’am, if ever 1 get the 
chance. ” 

Mrs. Hodges obeyed with alacrity, and then resumed her 
place at the door, while Mother Benoit stitched away, not 
at her gown, but at the tattered hood she wore. But Mrs. 
Hodges was too intent on the white winding carriage drive 
to observe any such trifling inconsistency. 

“ I’ll just dispose of these ’ere little trifles now,” 
thought Mother Benoit, her hooked yellow claws twisting 
nervously in and out, “ and call to see Miss Christabel 
Fane in a day or two, when she’s got over the shock of the 
funeral. It ain’t genteel to be in a hurry.” 

“ Here they come now!” said Mrs. Hodges, shading her 
eyes with her hand. “ The grandest funeral as ever came 
out of White Oaks! Ah, dear, dear, and it was but the 
other day we had a wedding! Life is full of changes— ah, 
dear, dear!” 

Indeed, and you may say that, ma’am,” said Mother 
Benoit, pressing forward to the door-way, to see the pro- 
cession move by. It’s up to-day and down to-morrow — 
now ain’t it? And here’s your needle and thread, ma’am, 
and thank ’ee kindly.” 

Mother Benoit slept that night in an unpretentious little 
hostelry about ten miles from White Oaks, and then 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


83 


trudged across country to the railway station, which had 
recently been erected for the benefit of travelers, stopping 
over a second night in a deserted barn. At the first stop- 
ping-place of any size she scrambled out of the cars and 
walked almost into the arms of a nice-looking man in plain 
clothes who was strolling nonchalantly up and down the 
platform, during the brief delay of the signal-waiting train. 

“ Bless my soul!^^ said the man, ‘‘this is an agreeable 
surprise. Mother Benoit, of all people in the world! Well, 
I am sure 1 hope I see you well! Take my arm, ma’am, 
won’t you!”’ 

Mother Benoit recoiled as if she had been shot, from the 
well-known figure and complacent visage of a prominent 
member of the London detective force. 

“ I’m well enough,” snarled the old woman, glaring 
vindictively at him. “ Stand out of my way, please; I’m 
in a hurry!” 

“No hurry — no hurry in life,” blandly interposed the 
officer, hooking his arm through hers, and politely con- 
ducting her on board the train which had just uttered the 
shrill shriek heralding its motion. “ A hundred pounds 
reward offered, and to think it should walk right up to 
me! There is such a thing as luck in this world, I do be- 
lieve!” 

“ A hundred pounds reward for what?” snarled the old 
woman, exhibiting her yellow fangs and shrunken gums in 
rather a tigerish fashion. 

“ For them sapphires and the gold chain you’ve got 
quilted into your bonnet front,” responded the officer, 
with a grin. “ You haven’t no judgment in your trim- 
mings, Mother Benoit— they hang too limp and heavy over 
your face!” 

The old woman made an involuntary clutch at her hood, 
but the officer was too quick for her. Grasping it from 
her head, he secured it in a deep inner pocket that he wore. 

“ Sorry to inconvenience you, ma’am,” said he, “ but 


8i 


LOVK AKD JEALOUSY. 


you’ll have to tie your head up in a handkerchief for the 
rest of the journey. Really, Mother Benoit,” he added, 
with a chuckle, “for a person as has been in the business 
as long as you have you’ve made a bungle of this affair. I 
shall get the hundred pounds reward — and you’ll get a 
ticket of leave for foreign parts!” 

And so, once more Mother Benoit was lifted out of the 
tide of circumstances which ebbed and flowed around the 
life of Ohristabel Fane. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE AMERICAN COUSIN. 

Scarcely a month had elapsed since the sudden death 
of Sir Rupert Fane, when the marble vault in the old 
church at Fane’s Bridge was once more opened to receive 
the last mortal remains of his wife. The internal injuries 
she had sustained by the fall had resulted fatally — and she 
did not linger long behind Sir Rupert. 

The opening of her will, however, produced somewhat 
of a sensation in the singularly assorted family she had 
left. Her private fortune — not large — was divided equally 
between her daughters, Gertrude and Gwyneth Vivian, 
and her step-daughter, Christabel Fane, was appointed 
guardian to Sidney Carruthers during his minority, in con- 
junction with Mr. Gold worthy, the London banker, to 
whose trust Sidney’s large inheritance was mostly confided. 

The two girls could scarcely conceal their anger and 
chagrin. 

“ I don’t think mamma could have been in her right 
mind when she made that will!” cried Gwyneth, indig- 
nantly. 

“ What right has Christabel Fane to interfere in the 
arrangements of our family?” haughtily demanded Ger- 
trude. “ Upon my word, this whole affair has been un- 


LOVE AND JRALOrSY. 85 

warrantable from beginning to end. We are our half- 
brother’s natural guardians, not a mere stranger!” 

‘‘ Now, look here, girls,” said. Sidney, “ let there be an 
end of this. Mamma was not blind during the last few 
weeks while I lay in her room, with a broken arm. She 
could hardly fail to see that all the care and nursing I re- 
ceived was from Christabel Fane, not from my own sisters. 
And it was only the day before she died that I heard her 
thank Christabel for all that she had done, and beg her 
not to intermit her loving care over me when she — mam- 
ma — was gone! And now, mark my words, Gwyneth and 
Gertrude Vivian,” added the boy, his dark eyes flashing, 
‘‘ this is 7ny house now. If you stay here, you have got to 
treat Christabel Fane properly. If you do not, you must 
seek some other home. You have property enough to live 
on in a small way, so I do not feel that I am condemning 
you to actual beggary. But all the same,” with an uncon- 
scious assumption of dignity, “I shall be very glad to 
have you live on at White Oaks, if you can accede to my 
terms.” 

And the two half-sisters were unwillingly compelled to 
cloak their real feelings and feign a courtesy toward Chris- 
tabel which was far enough from representing their real 
sensations. 

“ To think that we should be left at Sid’s mercy in this 
sort of way!” cried out Gwyneth, walking up and down 
the room like a half-tamed leopardess. 

“ It only confirms me in one resolution,” said Gertrude, 
who was sitting in front of the fire with an embroidered 
screen before her face. I shall marry as soon as I can 
come across an eligible 2 ^arti !” 

“ That of course!” said Gwyneth. “ But who knows 
how long it may be, first?” 

How sad, and strange, and dream-like passed by the 
days of that opening spring-time! Christabel Fane, mov- 
ing about the house in her deep black robes, and finding 


80 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


herself unexpectedly — almost unwillingly — a person of im- 
portance where she had once been so mercilessly slighted 
and neglected, was sometimes tempted to ask herself if it 
were not all a vision. Had it not been for Sidney, she 
might have been tempted to think her texistence aimless, 
hut there was something in the care and charge of his 
young life that gave flavor and sparkle to her existence. 
He was passionately attached to her, and Cbristabel felt, 
with a sensation of gratitude, that it was something to be 
loved by at least one trusting heart. He hung around her 
with caressing tenderness— he anticipated her every want 
and wish. 

Oh, Chrissy,'^ he said, one day, “ if I were only ten 
years older!’^ 

“ What would you do then, Sid?^’ 

“ I’d marry you. And then you couldn’t go off and 
leave me.” 

I shall never go and leave you now, Sid!” 

“Yes, you will. All girls do. But you must promise 
to wait until I am quite, quite grown up.” 

“ That is hardly necessary, Sid,” said Christabel, smil- 
ing. 

“ Because you see, you are my real guardian,” gravely 
went on Sidney iCarruthers. “ Old Gold worthy is all very 
well to take care of the ingots and rupees, but he’s no ideas 
beyond money and estates. You have! Gwyn and Gerty 
have as good as told me, half a dozen times, that they are 
sorry it wasn’t I that was killed by the runaway team in- 
stead of Sir Rupert and poor mamma. They have never 
cared for me, and now 1 think they almost hate me. But 
you love me, don’t you, Chrissy?” with a wistful twining 
of his slender arms about her neck. She clasped him in- 
voluntarily to her heart. 

“ 1 do love you, Sidney!” she cried out. 

Mr. Goldworthy came down to dine and sleep at the 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 87 

White Oaks once or twice, and held a sort of council with 
his young co-trustee. 

‘‘A sensible girl that/^ thought Mr. Gold worthy: 
“ worth a dozen of those shallow-pated Vivian girls. After 
all, my little friend, the heir, might have fallen into worse 
hands. ’ ’ 

It was a soft, balmy afternoon in May, and the White 
Oaks slopes were sprinkled over with a blue rain of violets 
below, while overhead all the trees were bursting into their 
soft spring green. The atmosphere was deliciously sweet 
and soft — the robins whistled melodiously in every thicket, 
and the pinks and daffodils were flinging their gold upon 
the air wherever a sunbeam could penetrate. Christabel 
Fane had gone for a walk down to the village, to carry 
something to one of her old pensioners, and to read a 
chapter or two to a sick woman, and Sidney had ordered 
his couch carried out to a spot under a budding horse- 
chestnut-tree, where he could read and dream in the open 
air. 

‘‘ It^s enough to drive a fellow distracted,’^ said he, “ to 
hear Gwyneth practicing her eternal sonatas and Gerty 
chattering nonsense to every brainless young lady that 
comes to see her. One never has a bit of privacy in the 
house. ITl stay out here, with my ‘ Don Quixote,’ until 
Chrissy comes back. ” 

There he lay, on the garnet velvet sofa, a light afghan 
of brilliant Oriental colors thrown over his feet, and his 
pale, pain-sharpened features turned up to the awning of 
silver-green leaves that quivered above him, as the stable 
clock struck three. 

“Three o’clock!” he murmured to himself, “and 
Chrissy not returned. I do wonder what keeps her?” 

The book had slipped down on the grass, as Sidney lay 
with closed eyes and hands folded across his chest, and just 
as he was thinking of reaching down for it, a footstep 
sounded on the gravel walk near by. 


88 


LOVE AN^D JEALOUSY. 


“Peters/" he said, without opening his eyes, “just 
hand me up my book!"" 

“ Here is the book,"" answered a deep, manly voice; 
“ but it is not Peters!"" 

Sidney opened his eyes, to behold a tall, sunburned 
young man of four- or five-and-twenty, with clustering 
auburn curls, a brilliant blue eye, and a traveling-coat 
flung over one arm, while with the other hand he carried a 
light valise. 

“ Halloo!"" ejaculated he. “ How came you here?"" 

“ 1 walked up from the station. Are you Sidney Car- 
ruthers?"" 

“ Of course I am Sidney Carruthers, "" answered the boy, 
raising himself on one elbow, and staring hard at his unex- 
pected visitor. “ But who in the name of all the impossi- 
ble gods and goddesses are you V* 

The young man smiled. 

“ Well, it isn"t very strange that you should not know 
me,"" said he. “I am Oswald Carruthers, from Deep 
Valley, in the state of Oregon, United States of America!"" 

Sidney uttered a long, low whistle. 

“I know you now,"" said he. “You are my cousin 
from the Par West. I"ve heard it all a score of times — 
how your father quarreled with my old grandfather Car-’ 
ruthers, and went West to build up a fortune of his own. 
Give us your hand. Cousin Oswald. Did he ever build it 
up?” 

“ The fortune do you mean?"" iuquired the young man, 
smiling, as he wrung Sidney"s slender hand in his own mus- 
cular grasp. 

“Yes."" 

“ As much of a fortune as we want. We have twenty 
thousand acres of land, and about three thousand cattle, 
and—"" 

“ Stop, stop, hold on a minute,"" interrupted Sidney 
Carruthers, dragging himself into a sitting posture. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


89 


“ Twenty thousand acres of land! No, you mean that for 
a Yankee story, don^t you?^^ 

“ It may be a Yankee story, but it is a true one. 

“ Why, we call this a big park,^^ cried Sidney, motion-' 
ing around with his one hand, “ and it^s only forty odd 
acres. 

But you forget. Cousin Sidney, that America is a 
larger place than this, and that an acre of your land repre- 
sents the value of at least a hundred there. We have land 
and flocks, but for all that we donH call ourselves excep- 
tionally wealthy people.^’ 

“ Well, I^m glad to see you,’^ said Sidney. ‘‘You are 
welcome to White Oaks, Oswald Carruthers. Let me in- 
vite you into the house. 

Lifting a small silver whistle to his lips he blew a sum- 
mons, which was speedily obeyed by a servant. 

“ Robinson,^’ said he, “take Mr. Carruthers^s things. 
Now, Cousin Oswald, if you will give me your arm, we 
will go in. 

As they walked along, Oswald Carruthers explained to 
his young kinsman that he had only heard of the death of 
Lady Fane and her husband since his arrival in the village 
of Fane^s Bridge. 

“ I half doubted whether to intrude on you, after so re- 
cent a bereavement,^^ said he, “ but — 

“ Then you shouldn’t have doubted,” brusquely retorted 
Sidney. “ 1 wish you could have seen mamma, and as for 
Sir Rupert, well, he was very nice, and all that, of course, 
but one can’t be expected to take the death of one’s step- 
father so deeply to heart, except for Christabel’s sake.” 

“ Who is Christabel?” 

“ My half-sister — no, step-sister, I mean. Gertrude and 
Gwyneth, I think, are my half-sisters. We’re a kind of 
conglomerate family here, 1 can tell you. Cousin Oswald. 
Christabel is Sir Rupert’s daughter, and my guardian. ” 

“ Oh!” said Oswald Carruthers, picturing to himself a 


90 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


mature young lady with spectacles and corkscrew curls. 
“ 1 should think a guardian must be a very great nuisance. 

‘‘But Christabel isn’t a nuisance,” said Sidney, eager- 
'ly. “ She’s as nice — oh! as nice as a girl pan he. I love 
Christabel!” 

And he led his cousin under the shadow of the grand 
colonnade, which admitted the guest into White Oaks. 

“ This is a grand place,” said Oswald Carruthers, look- 
ing around at the mosaic marble floor, echoing galleries, 
and silent statues. “ 1 should think the queen’s palace 
could scarcely be any flner. ” 

• “ Oh! it is a deal,” said Sidney. “You have never 
seen the queen’s palace, I fancy?” 

Oswald Carruthers laughed. 

“ Don’t I tell you that I am just from the backwoods 
of Oregon?” said he, “I only arrived in Liverpool yes- 
terday. 1 have seen nothing and nobody. You will have 
to teach me everything. How shall you like that?” 

“ I shall like yoic, at all events,” said Sidney. “ Eob- 
inson, let the green room be prepared for this gentleman 
at once. Sit down, Oswald, until your quarters are ready. 
And why did you never write to me before? Didn’t you 
know we were first cousins?” 

Oswald looked a little embarrassed. 

“ Yes,” said he, “ 1 knew it; but my father never 
would let me write during his life-time. He said that my 
grandfather had treated him shamefully, and that he 
would never have aught to do with the name and race of 
the English Carruthers.” 

“I’ve heard of your father,” interposed Sidney, laugh- 
ingly. “They used to call him ‘Savage Carruthers.’ 
Mamma told me of him.” 

“ He had a high temper, and he was a peculiar man,” 
said Oswald, “but I loved him dearly, and I — 1 would 
rather not talk about his faults, if you please, Sidney.” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


91 


“ I beg your pardon, Oswald,^^ said Sidney, coloring, 
“ I should not have spoken so.-’^ 

“ It is always best to speak the truth, said Oswald Car- 
ruthers, bluntly. ‘‘ They did call him ‘ Savage Car- 
ruthers.'’ When his temper rose he could not always con- 
trol it. I can understand that, Sidney, for,^^ with a smile 
and a shrug of the shoulders, “ I have a temper of my 
own. 1 am Savage Carruthers, too, at times. But, as 1 
was saying, he did not choose to renew any of the old as- 
sociations here, and during his life-time I, of course, obeyed 
him. But since his death I have been very lonely — ^you 
see, my mother died when I was a child — and I have often 
longed to look upon some face that bore the stamp of kin- 
ship to my own. So I concluded, all of a sudden, to come 
over and visit my English relations; but I did not expect 
to find them living in such style and splendor. 

“ And you are welcome,^' said Sidney, heartily. “ Let 
me see — how old are you?^^ 

“ Four-and-twenty.^’ 

“ And I am not yet thirteen; but we shall be friends for 
all that. I like your looks. Cousin Oswald. ” 

“ Ah!’^ said Oswald Carruthers, turning to Sidney with 
a curious glitter in his pleasant blue eyes; “ but you doiiT 
know what an unpolished specimen I am of the American 
backwoods. Will you take me just as I am?^^ 

“And glad of the chance,'^ said Sidney, cordially. 
“ Now, go upstairs and make yourself presentable. I 
want you to produce a good impression on Christabel. 

“ Oh,^^ said Oswald, “I always get along nicely with 
elderly ladies; it^s the young girls that don't like me." 

He followed Eobinson as he spoke. Sidney looked after 
him, scarcely comprehending his last words, until suddenly 
a light dawned upon the cloudy recesses of his brain. 

“ Oh-h-h!" said Sidney, chuckling; “ he thinks Chrissy 
is an old dragoness of fifty. I'm blessed if he don't! Won't 
he be rather astonished when he sees her?" 


02 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Robinson led the young stranger up a broad flight of 
shallow black walnut stairs^, covered with a vivid strip of 
brilliant Turkey carpeting, and ushered him into a suite of 
apartments — bedroom, bath-room, and sitting-room — up- 
holstered in pale-green velvet and silver. Oswald Car- 
ruthers looked around him in some surprise. 

“ Is this a bedroom?’^ said he, standing in the middle 
of the emerald velvet carpet, and staring at the low, shell- 
shaped chairs, the gold-tasseled sofa, and the little alabas- 
ter statuettes on the malachite mantel. 

“No, sir,’’ answered Robinson; “ bedroom to the south, 
bath-room adjoining.” 

“ But I can’t use all three of them at once,” said Os- 
wald. 

“ They are at your service, sir,” said Robinson, cough- 
ing behind his hand. “ Can I help you, sir?” 

Oswald Carruthers turned short around upon him. 

“ In what way?” said he. 

“ To dress you, sir,” suggested Robinson, who had once 
been valet de cliambre to a viscount, and considered himself 
au fait in all matters pertaining to the toilet. 

“ How old should you think 1 was, my' man?” asked 
Oswald, gravely. 

“ I couldn’t venture to say, I’m sure, sir,” said Rob- 
inson. 

“lam four-and- twenty years old, and I have never had 
a nurse to dress me for the last twenty of ’em. Don’t you 
think I am rather old to begin now?” 

“ I beg pardon, sir, I’m sure,” said the somewhat dis- 
comfited Robinson, and he withdrew from the presence of 
the independent young American. 

When Oswald Carruthers came down-stairs again, ar- 
rayed in fresh linen, and with his brown curls still damp 
from their deluge of cold spring water, Sidney was not 
alone. A tall, beautiful young girl in deep black robes 
stood beside his sofa — a girl with a face that seemed to Os- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


03 


vvald the sweetest he had ever looked upon, and glistening 
dark-brown braids of hair coiled around and around her 
small, haughty head. He stopped. 

“One of your sisters, I presume?’^ he said, as Sidney 
spoke no word of introduction. 

“No,^’ said Sidney, with the utmost gravity; “my 
guardian. Miss Christabel Fane. 

The color mounted to the very roots of Oswald Car- 
ruthers^'s hair. 

“ I beg your pardon. Miss Fane,'^ said he. “1 sup- 
posed — Sidney said — at least I thought — you were an elder- 
ly personage. 

“ Wasn't it a joke?" said Sidney, hugging himself, and 
laughing uproariously. Even Christabel could not help 
smiling. 

“ 1 fear I am rather a young guardian," said she. 
“ But Sid is very good and obedient." 

Gwyneth and Gertrude came in presently, in full dinner- 
dresses of black grenadine and pearls. They had heard of 
the new arrival, and were curious to see “ the American 
Indian," as they called him. Sidney presented them with 
mock, formality. 

“ Why, you are just like one of ourselves," said 
Gwyneth, a little disappointed that Mr. Carruthers of Ore- 
gon did not look like one of the rough-and-tumble Ameri- 
cans she had seen delineated in the comic illustrated papers. 

“ Why shouldn't I be?" said Oswald. “ My father and 
mother were an English gentleman and lady. Do you 
take me for a red Indian, because I chanced to be born on 
a western prairie?" 

There was something in the cold incisiveness in his tones 
that irritated Gwyneth Vivian. 

“ The Carruthers were not all gentlemen," said she. 

“ But my father was!" quietly retorted Oswald, a flush 
crossing his fair forehead. 

“ Gwyn thinks that a carpet manufacturer can't be a 


94 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


gentleman/^ said Sidney, gravely. ‘‘To be sure, every 
one can’t pretend to the gentility of Captain Vivian, 
but—” 

“ Dinner has been served for some time, Sidney,” mild- 
ly interrupted Christabel Fane. “ Mr. Carruthers, will 
you give your arm to Miss Gertrude Vivian?” . 

“What for?” 

Oswald looked around in some surprise. 

“ To take her in to dinner.” 

“Oh!” said Oswald. “ Is that your custom here? J 
am sure I shall be most happy.” 

“ A perfect aborigine,” whispered Gwyneth to Christa- 
bel, as they followed. 

“ He seems rather brusque and abrupt,” said Christa- 
bel; “ but I like him very much. And he is certainly very 
handsome.” 

“Do you like that light-haired Saxon style?” said 
Gwyneth, superciliously. “ 1 don’t!” 

Oswald Carruthers was evidently entirely unaccustomed 
to the forms and ceremonies attendant upon an English 
state dinner. He committed several minor blunders, such 
as eating fish with his knife, spilling soup on the table- 
cloth, and pouring his cafe noir into the saucer. More- 
over, he utterly refused to take wine when the solemn- 
faced butler brought it around. 

“ Not drink my health. Cousin Oswald?” remonstrated 
Sidney. 

“ 1 drink nobody’s health in anything but water,” said 
the American cousin, bluntly. “ A man with a disposi- 
tion and temperament like mine has no business to be fill- 
ing his veins with liquid fire!” 

“ You are a strange fellow,” said Sidney, half vexed, 
half amused. 

“ Didn’t 1 tell you they called me ‘ Savage Car- 
ruthers?’ ” said the young man, with a smile. “ Do you 
always sit as long at your meals as this?” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


95 


“ At dinner — yes/’ answered Sidney. 

“ It would drive me frantic/’ said Oswald. “ I never 
can sit long!” 

“ You’ll get used to it soon/’ said Sidney, with an un- 
consciously patronizing air. “ You must remember that 
you are not in your western prairies now.” 

But after dinner Oswald suddenly started up, disturbing 
one of Gwyneth’s most elaborate sonatas by Chopin, in its 
very midst. 

“ 1 — I beg your pardon,” said he, “ but I can not sit 
still another second. I’ll go out and walk as far as the 
railway station. I must breathe and stretch myself a lit- 
tle, or I shall suffocate 1” 

And, with a laughing gesture of adieu, he caught up his 
hat and strode out into the moonlight. 

‘‘ What a bear!” said Gwyneth, angrily. 

“ What a singular young man!” said Gerty, super- 
ciliously. 

“ What a brick!” said Sidney. 


CHAPTER XI. 

BY THE WATEK-EALL. 

Oswald Carruthers had been at White Oaks more 
than a week, when, one spring morning, Sidney found 
him stretched at full length under a slender beech- tree, his 
folded arms under his head, and his eyes intently fixed on 
the blue sky overhead. 

“ Halloo, old chap!” said Sidney, tapping him on the 
shoulder with one of his crutches, “get up! You’ll take 
cold!” 

“ Never had a cold in my life!” said Oswald, without 
stirring. 

“ That is no sign that you never will,” retorted Sidney, 
sitting down on a low, rustic bench beside him. “ What 
are you doing?” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


9C 


“Thinking!"" responded Oswald, without removing his 
eyes from the white cloudlets that floated in the cerulean 
blue overhead, tiny silver ships upon a sea of azure. 

“ Thinking of what?"" questioned Sidney, twisting his 
fingers in his cousin’s light curly hair. 

“Of a variety of things. Sid, your sisters don’t like 
me. "" 

“ I don’t think they like anybody very much, except 
themselves,” said Sidney, evasively. 

“ They think 1 am a boor, and a wild man of the 
woods,” said Oswald, showing his beautiful white teeth in 
a smile. “ And perhaps they are not far wrong; but I 
don’t think I could ever narrow myself down into the pat- 
tern of one of your fine gentlemen — Lord Henry Follyott? 
for example. ” 

“ Lord Henry is a prig and a dandy!” sneered Sidney. 
“ But that reminds me — the Follyotts, and Mrs. Bracy and 
her daughter are to dine here to-morrow.” 

“ Are they? 1 am sure 1 have no objections.” 

“But, Oswald-” 

“Well?” 

“ You’ll have to wear a dress suit.” 

“ What’s that?” said Oswald, turning his blue eyes with 
frank surprise upon his cousin’s face. “ Aren’t these 
things good enough? They were quite new when I left 
home!” 

“ Good enough? Why. yes, they are good enough,” 
answered Sidney, somewhat perplexed to explain his mean- 
ing. “ But we have different styles for different occasions 
here, and you had better send up to London for another 
suit, or go yourself; you can easily be back before night.” 

Oswald Carruthers sprung from the ground, shaking 
himself like an impatient lion. 

“ I never saw such a form-and-ceremony-shackled place 
as this rusty old England of yours is!” cried he. “ Well, 
if it’s an absolute necessity — ” 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


97 


It is V’ nodded Sidney. 

“ Then Fll borrow that Flying Dutchman of yours, and 
ride on to the station at once. I should hardly catch the 
train if I walked. 

“ You mustn't ride Flying Dutchman!’’ said Sidney, 
rather startled. “ Nobody rides Flying Dutchman!” 

“ Why not?” 

“ Because he’s such a devil incarnate of a horse. He 
has killed one groom, and Harrington would have sold him 
long ago, if everybody didn’t know his tricks too well to 
buy him. He has not been ridden, except for exercise, in 
a year. ” 

“ Are you quite sure of that?” said Oswald, smiling. 
“ Well, he will be ridden to the station before we are an 
. hour older. ” 

“ Oswald, do you want your neck broken?” 

Not in the least.” 

He strode away toward the stables, Sidney limping after, 
with unheeded remonstrances. 

“Bring out that black horse, boy,” said Oswald, in- 
differently. 

“ Don’t you do anything of the kind, Tom,” said Sid- 
ney, angrily. 

“ Law bless you, Master Sid!” said the stableman, grin- 
ning. “Mr. Carruthers rode Flying Dutchman all yes- 
terday morning. I never see nothing like it in ail my born 
days, the way Dutchman reared and plunged when he felt 
some one on his back, nor the way he struck out down the 
road. ‘ There’ll be a coroner’s ’quest in the house as sure 
as I’m alive,’ says I to Bill and Diggory. ‘ There ain’t no 
man alive can keep on Flying Dutchman’s back when he’s 
in one of his murderous moods,’ says I. But, as true as 
you live, Mr. Carruthers came back at noon, with Flying 
Dutchman on the trot, just like he was a lamb, and his 
flank all dripping with sweat! Just you let Mr. Car- 
Tuthers alone. Master Sid — I’ll go bail he’s all right.” 

4 


98 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


‘‘How did you do it, Oswald?’’ asked Sidney of his 
cousin, who was examining the girths and buckles of the 
magnificent black horse who had been walked into the 
yard by one of the stable-boys. 

“ I’ve ridden bareback on the plains of Mexico,” said 
Oswald, quietly; “ and it is not likely one of your English 
horses can master me. Flying Dutchman is well enough, 
only a little hard on the bit and warped in the temper. 
Good-bye until dinner-time, Sid.” 

And springing on the back of the impatient steed, horse 
and rider disappeared like a flash. 

“ If I was that young gent, I’d go in for a circus rider,” 
said Tom, looking admiringly down the road. “ Never 
see anything like it in my life. It’ll raise the price of Fly- 
ing Dutchman a hundred guineas.” 

Sidney drew a long breath. 

“ I would give all I have in the world and go cheerfully 
into the streets a beggar,” said he, “ if I had strength and 
courage like that.” 

Tom looked kindly at his young master. 

“Us can’t have everything at once. Master Sid,” said 
he; “ and you’re rare rich in this world’s goods.” 

And Oswald Carruthers appeared at the dinner-table 
that day in an irreproachable evening suit, which drew un- 
willing tribute even from Captain Vivian’s daughters. 

“He isn’t so bad in black,” said Gertrude. “But in 
those gray suits, he’s a perfect savage. ” 

“ His features are well enough,” remarked Gwyneth. 

“ He is a diamond in the rough,” said Christabel, smil- 
ing. 

Oswald Carruthers’s influence over his young cousin Sid- 
ney was almost boundless as the days passed on. His great 
strength and almost child-like simplicity were absolutely 
captivating to the boy— his stories of wild western life and 
adventures fascinated Sidney like the “ Arabian Nights. ” 


LOVE A^TD JEALOUSY. 


99 


Ohristabel, too, partook, in some degree, of her young 
ward’s enthusiasm. 

Isn’t he splendid, Chrissy?” said he one afternoon, 
when Oswald had quietly collared a drunken and disorderly 
gypsy man, who had been too persistent in demanding 
money of the young ladies, and pitched him over the 
hedge, following to see him safe off the grounds, and to 
warn Mrs. Hodges about admitting visitants of his caliber 
to the place for the future. 

“ Yes,” said Ohristabel, with a long breath. “ One can 
not help admiring great strength, especially when it is 
united to gentleness, as it is in Mr. Carruthers.” 

You like him, Chrissy, don’t you?” said Sidney, lean- 
ing on her lap and looking up into her face. 

Of course I like him.” 

‘‘He’s only a half-tamed wild animal, after all,” said 
Gwyneth, scornfully. 

“ He alwavs reminds me of the story of ‘ Valentine and 
Orson,’ ” added Gertrude, shrugging her shoulders. 

“ Who are Valentine and Orson, and who are you talk- 
ing of?” demanded Oswald Carruthers, who had returned 
just in time to catch the last words. 

“ Talking of you,” said Sidney, promptly. 

“Sid!” cried out Ohristabel, in a warning voice;, .but 
the willful lad paid no attention to the pleading touch of 
her hand on his arm. 

“ And Valentine and Orson were two brothers in story- 
land,” went on he. “ One was a fine gentleman, the other 
a wild man of the woods.” 

“ And which am 1?” demanded Oswald, smiling. 

“ Guess,” said Sidney. 

“ The wild man, of course,” said Oswald. 

“ Exactly!” nodded Sidney; “ that’s what Gerty says. 
Don’t look snake-eyed at me, Gertrude,” with a mock 
obeisance toward his half-sister, “I am only speaking 
truth. And Gwyn says you’re a half-tamed wild animal.” 


100 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Sidney!’^ cried Gwyneth, in a voice half choked with 
rage. 

‘‘ Let him go on/^ said Oswald, who stood leaning 
against a marble statue of Apollo, twisting a slender twig 
of lilac to and fro. “I do not know but that Miss 
Gwyneth is right.’’ 

But there was a red bar across his forehead, and a glit- 
ter in his eyes that bore mute witness to some violently 
repressed emotion. 

“ And Christabel,” defiantly went on the boy. Oswald 
turned quickly around. 

“ What does she say?” he asked. 

“ Sid! Sid!” pleaded Christabel, in an agony of blushes. 

“ Let me alone, Chris,” cried Sidney. This is the 
Palace of Truth, and you have got to be shown up as well 
as the others. Christabel says. Cousin Oswald, that she 
likes you.” 

The deep color suffused Oswald’s whole face; he held 
out his hand to Christabel. 

‘‘ I thank you. Miss Fane,” said he. “I am accus- 
tomed to criticism, but words of kindness are decidedly 
unusual.” 

“ I — 1 did not mean to be kind,” faltered Christabel, 
hardly knowing, in her embarrassment, what she said. 

“No,” said Oswald Carruthers; “but neither did you 
mean to be ?^?ikind. The others do. There is the differ- 
ence. And now, Sid, I’m going after those hart’s-tongue 
ferns for your new fernery in the woods. ” 

And he walked away. 

“ I congratulate you on your conquest, Christabel,” said 
Gwyneth, ironically. 

“ 1 don’t understand you!” said Christabel, lifting her 
grave eyes in innocent surprise. 

“ Some folks are very difficult of comprehension!” said 
Gertrude. 


LOTE AND JEALOUSYi 


101 


Don’t mind ’em, Chrissy,” said Sidney. “It’ll be 
long enough before they achieve conquests of any sort!” 

“ Sidney, ” said Christabel, seriously, when the other 
girls had gone in to dress for dinner, “ you should not have 
said what you did to your cousin!” 

“ Why not?” demanded reckless Sidney. “ Oswald 
hates beating about the bush. And he’s so sharp, he 
always finds a thing out, if you try to hide it ever so much! 
Besides, it’s such jolly fun to make Gwyn and Gerty mad!” 

“ Yes, but—” 

“ Come, 1 won’t be lectured any more!” said Sidney, 
with affectionate petulance. “ Let’s go down into the 
woods, and I’ll show you where Oswald and I have com- 
menced a regular American fernery on the banks of Cold 
Brook.” 

And so it fell out that Oswald, Sidney, and Christabel 
spent all the long, lovely spring afternoon in the woods 
together, returning home barely in time for dinner. 

A few weeks had elapsed — weeks of boating, driving, 
quiet little picnics in the woods, and pleasant twilights on 
the terrace, during which Gwyneth and Gertrude had held 
themselves ostentatiously aloof from Sidney, Christabel 
Fane, and Oswald Carruthers — and it was a glowing after- 
noon in June, when Christabel came into the room where 
Sidney lay on a sofa, with darkened blinds and an odor of 
eau-de-Cologne in the apartment. 

“ Oh, Sidney,” said she, gently, “ is your head not bet- 
ter? I am so sorry!” 

“ It’s worse, I think!” said Sidney, tossing restlessly to 
and fro among the embroidered satin pillows. “ Oswald 
never had a headache in his life. Oh, why couldn’t I have 
been like Oswald?” 

Christabel sat gently down by his side. 

“ Can I read to you?” she asked. 

“ No — it would only make my head worse.” 

“ Will you try some valerian?” 


102 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“Valerian? No-o-o!’^ with a grimace. “ But Til tell 
you what I wish you would do, Christabel.^^ 

“ What is it, Sid?^’ 

“Just put on your hat and go down to that little water- 
fall in the woods. I promised to meet Oswald there at 
four o^clock, and he will wait for me. Tell him IVe got a 
headache and canT come. Oh, dear — he was going to 
show me how to make an artificial viaduct over the stream, 
to water the fernery. Hurry, or you’ll be late!” 

Christabel hesitated a moment. In her inmost heart 
she scarcely relished the mission; and yet Sidney was so 
anxious, and what excuse could she possibly find for declin- 
ing so simple an errand? 

“ Yes,” said she, “ I’ll go, but I will soon be back. 
Try to sleep while 1 am gone, won’t you?” 

“ Oh, I’ll fry” retorted Sidney, impatiently, “but as 
for sleeping with this pain at the back of my head, it isn’t 
one of the likely things. But hurry, Christabel, do!” 

Christabel Fane tied on her broad-brimmed straw hat, 
flung a muslin scarf over her shoulders, and hurried down 
the laurel-shaded walk at the back of the house, passing 
through a little wire gate in the shrubbery to a field across 
which lay the woods where the little water-fall tinkled 
musically down a deep slope of velvet-mossed rock. 

Oswald Carruthers was reclining on its banks, his hat 
thrown ofl:, to let the fresh breeze blow upon his forehead, 
and his hands dipped in the cool water. He sprung up at 
Christabel’s approach. 

“ Miss Fane!” 

“Yes,” said Christabel, smiling at his evident surprise, 
“ Sidney wished me to come and tell you he had a severe 
headache, and could not keep his appointment with you 
this afternoon.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Oswald. “ Is anything serious?” 

“ Oh, no, I hope not. He often has these severe 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 103 

neuralgic headaches, but they generally grow better at 
sunset. And now 1 must hurry back to him. 

“ No,’^ said Oswald Carruthers, with gentle authority; 
“ you must not. Your face is flushed, and the sun is in- 
tolerably hot. Sit down and rest and cool off a minute or 
two, unless you want a sunstroke ' 

He drew a little silver cup from his pocket as he spoke, ' 
and dipped a crystal draught out of the stream. 

“ Drink that,” said he, and Christabel drank obediently. 

“ It is very refreshing, said she. 

“Now let me fan you, went on Oswald Carruthers, 
bending over her as she sat on a lichen-enameled rock,* and 
picking up his own broad-brimmed hat for a fan. “Do 
you know. Miss Fane, 1 am very glad you came down here?^^ 

“ Are you?^^ said Christabel. “ Why?^’ 

“ Because I have so few opportunities of seeing you 
alone, and I wanted to see you alone very much. ” 

“ Why?” again questioned Christabel, unconsciously 
yielding herself up to a dreamy enjoyment of the soft, 
sultry air, the musical monotone of the water-fall, and the 
subtle fragrance of blossoming wild roses and flowers. 

“ Can not you guess?” 

Christabel looked at him with startled eyes and deepen- 
ing color. Something in the tone of his voice afforded to 
her the clew to his meaning that had hitherto been lacking. 

“ I — 1 never thought of that,” she faltered. 

“ Never thought that I loved you?” 

“ Oh, no, no!” she cried out. 

“ I love you, Christabel Fane,” said Oswald Car- 

ruthers. “ 1 think I lost my heart to you the very first 
day that I looked upon your face, but I never should have 
had courage to speak if it had not been for what Sidney 
said the other day, that you liked me.” 

“ Sidney is only a child,” interrupted Christabel, with 
burning cheeks. “ He says things without thinking — he 
does not understand — ” 


104 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


‘‘ I suppose 1 may seem presumptuous and unduly aspir- 
ing/^ went on the young man. “ I am not rich, I know; 
but 1 have land and money enough to keep my wife in 
comfort, if not in luxury. I can give you a competence, 
Christabel, and I love you better than e\er man loved 
woman before. 1 am abrupt and unpolished in my man- 
ner, but 1 could never be rough with you. You could 
make and mold me into any shape you pleased, my own 
darling. I should be as supple wax in your hands. Will 
you try me, Christabel? Will you become my wife?^’ 

She shook her head, while a slight shiver convulsed her 
frame. He observed it, and a change passed across his 
face. 

“You are afraid of me,^^ he said. “ I am a savage, 
after all. And yet I have tried to be gentle with you.^^ 

“Oh, no, no! 1 am not afraid,’^ she said, eagerly. 
“ Only I — it is so strange, so unexpected. 

His somber countenance brightened again. 

“ Perhaps I have spoken too abruptly, said he. “ Per- 
haps you would like time to think it all over? I will 
wait awhile — a month, a year — if you say so; only give me 
hope.^^ 

“ No,'’^ said Christabel, firmly. “ I do not want time. 
My decision is final. 

He turned away with a face as pale as ashes. 

“ I beg your pardon,^ ^ said he, in a strange, unnatural 
voice. “ I am sorry I have made myself so obnoxious. I 
should have remembered the wide gulf between Sir Ru- 
pert Fane’s daughter and the uncultured young American 
farmer.” 

“ Please — please don’t speak so,” pleaded Christabel, 
stung by remorse for the destruction she had unconsciously 
wrought. “ Surely you are not angry with me, Mr. Car- 
ruthers?” 

“ Angry with you 

“ Let this be as if it had never been,” went on Christa- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. ' 1U5 

bel, taking one of liis cold hands in hers. “ Let us be 
friends, for dear Sid^s sake.^^ 

“ I can accept no such friendship as that,^' answered 
Oswald, with a faint smile. 

“ For my sake, then.-"^ 

“ I am like the supposititious case in Scripture,” said 
Oswald, with a mirthless laugh, ‘‘ the boy who asked for 
bread and received in its stead a stone. But I am grateful 
for even the smallest dole of kindness from your hands. 
Miss Fane.^" 

“ Call me Christabel,” she urged. 

“ Why should I call you Christabel?^’ he retorted, 
angrily. 

“ Are we not to be brother and sister for the future?^^ 

“ No,"” he answered, sternly, and with a depth of pas- 
sion in his voice that almost frightened Ohristabel, “ never 
that. Friends, if you say so — not brother and sister. ” 

“ Friends, then,^’ said Ohristabel, speaking in a low, 
timid voice. “ Is it a bargain, Oswald?” 

“ Yes, as bargains go. Are you rested enough,^’ as she 
tied on her hat again. 

“ Yes,^^ Ohristabel answered. 

‘‘ Shall I walk home with you?^^ 

“ I would rather go alone. 

“ 1 might have known that without asking,” said Os- 
wald, bitterly. “ Well, good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye, Oswald!” 

And Ohristabel hastened along the secluded woodland 
path, unconscious of the birds chirping around her, and 
the murmurous rustle of foliage in the soft June air. She 
was questioning her own heart! 

All girls over fifteen have had secret ideals shrined in 
their inner conscience as to the lover who is one day to 
come among them, and Ohristabel Fane was in nowise 
different from her kind. But ChristabeFs cherished ideal 
corresponded in no one particular to this stalwart and oid- 


106 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


spoken young American. In her critical , eyes, Oswald 
Carruthers was lacking in wit, conventional polish, and 
intellectual culture. Comparing him in her mind with 
her refined and courtly father, and the country grandeur 
which she had grown up amid, he fell far short of the 
standard. 

“Oh, no, no, I never could marry him!"’ thought 
Christabel, hurrying across the daisy-spangled meadow, 
where crowds of butterflies floated, in golden gusts before 
her footsteps, and the delicious perfume of blooming clover 
filled the air. “ But — but he is good and noble, and there 
is something strangely attractive about him, after all. 
Now, I am so sorry, so very sorry that this awkward inci- 
dent has transpired to spoil all the pleasure of the sum- 
mer. For he will remember it, and so shall I, in spite of 
any effort to appear unconscious and nonchalant.” 

And Christabel Fane hardly knew whether the tears in 
her eyes were those of actual sorrow, or mere annoyance, 
while Oswald Carruthers, still standing with bent brow 
and folded arms, by the side of the noisy little thread of 
falling water, muttered to himself: 

“ Why couldn’t I have known enough to take myself 
back to the wilderness before making a fool of payself — 
and to her, of all people in the world, too! I shall keep 
on loving her all the same, to my life’s end, but I know 
now that 1 have no more chance of winning her than of 
gaining one of yonder white clouds in the blue vault of 
heaven! Shall I go home again to Oregon? No,” he 
said, aloud, “ I will remain here until the original limit of 
my visit to England is compassed. 1 will allow no morbid 
shrinking or sick fancy to change the current of my re- 
solve, but,” with a rigid tightening of the muscles of his 
set face, “ the whole world will be different to me after 
this! Oh, God! I never knew, until now, that she is lost 
to me forever, how dearly I loved her!” 

Oswald Carruthers did not return to White Oaks until 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 107 

long past nine that night. Sidney looked up at him with 
an injured face as he entered. 

“ What have you been doing with yourself all the after- 
noon, Oswald said he. 

“ 1 have been for a twelve-mile walk!^’ answered the 
young American. “ How is your head?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. Better, 1 suppose.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” said Oswald. 

And he went up to his room without another word. 


CHAPTER XTI. 

A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE. 

“ Where are you going, Gertrude?” said Gwyneth 
Vivian. 

The elder sister, in an elaborate summer toilet of black 
silk, with a Chantilly lace shawl and an exquisite little 
French hat of white lace and black silk roses perched on 
the back braids of her red -gold hair, had just sauntered 
into the room where Gwyneth was trying to study out a 
new lace stitch from the pages of an instruction book. 

“ I am going to take my book out into the park,” an- 
swered Gertrude, indifferently, as she selected a small blue- 
and-gold volume of poems from a gilded book-rest on the 
table. 

“ Do stay and show me about this stitch,” urged 
Gwyneth. “ I never can understand this sort of thing, 
unless 1 see some one else do it.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Gertrude, irritably. “As if 1 were 
going to spend all this lovely afternoon blinding my eyes 
with your abominable lace stitches.” 

Gwyneth looked spitefully at the blue-and-gold volume 
in her sister’s hand. 

“ It strikes me you have turned literary all of a sud- 
den,” said she. 

“ Why shouldn’t I?” retorted Gertrude. 


108 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


“ And perhaps yon expect to meet Lord Henry Follyott 
out in the park?’" added Gwyneth. “ Is that the secret 
of your unusual fondness for poetry in the open air?” 

“ Lord Henry Follyott did mention that it was like- 
ly he might stroll up this way in the afternoon,” answered 
Gertrude, with undisturbed equanimity. “ Now, don’t be 
spiteful, Gwyn, because he likes my society better than he 
does yours. It’s unfortunate, but it’s inevitable.” 

Gwyneth laughed coldly. 

“ Pray don’t remain in the house on my account,” said 
she. 

“Oh, I won’t!” gayly flashed back Gertrude, with a 
toss of the fascinating little French hat and a whisk of her 
pearl-handled lace parasol. 

Gwyneth followed the sauntering, languid figure with 
her eyes as it lost itself among the sinuous windings of a 
path that led down to a secluded nook by the river-side — 
then she returned to the lace-work, with a disagreeable 
smile curving the corners of her lips. 

“ Time and trouble thrown away, ma chere she 

murmured. “ If you had chosen to be a trifle less dis- 
agreeable, I might have told you that I saw Lord Henry 
and his brother step into a first-class carriage labeled 
‘ London,’ when I was at the railway station telegraphing 
to my dress-maker this morning.” 

Gertrude Vivian, however, quite unconscious of the 
weary miles of distance that separated herself and the gen- 
tleman upon whom she elected to cast an eye of favor, was 
at that very moment selecting the most graceful attitude 
she could study out upon the rustic seat by the river-side 
as she opened her book and arranged the Chantilly shawl 
to the best possible artistic advantage. 

“ He won’t be long,” said she to herself. 

But the moments slipped away, gradually lengthening 
into half an hour, and then into an hour, and no Lord 
Henry Follyott came up the gold-green checkers of the 


LOVE JEALOUSY. 


109 


beech-shaded wall that skirted the blue and murmurous 
flow of the picturesque little river. Gertrude looked up 
and down the shore, and yawned behind her hand. 

“Oh, dear, said she, “what can possibly keep him? 
IVe a great mind not to wait any longer — only it would be 
almost a pity to disappoint him, if he should come. „ 

Once more she opened the book, in whose cream- tin ted 
pages she certainly did not seem particularly interested, and 
as she did so, a footstep sounded on the velvet turf behind 
her. 

“ It^s he,^^ she thought, with an involuntary quickening 
of the pulses and heightening of the color. “ But 1^11 not 
turn my head; he shall not think 1 am at all interested in 
his comings and goings. ” 

And Miss Vivian bent her attention closer than ever on 
her volume. 

Nearer and nearer came the footsteps; still Gertrude 
never turned her head, until a level shadow darkened the 
page, and she glanced up with a pretty simulation of sur- 
prise. 

“ I declare. Lord Henry — But there Gertrude 
stopped, the rosy color fading, an unmistakable surprise 
and alarm usurping the coquettish mien she had at first 
assumed. “ Who are you, sir?^^ 

For it was not Lord Henry Follyott at all, but a stout, 
middle-aged man, with an iron-gray mustache, partially 
silvered locks brushed jauntily away from a flushed and 
somewhat bloated countenance, and a curious, pseudo- 
military air in his bearing and gestures. His dress, shabby 
in the extreme, was brushed carefully, soiled primrose-col- 
ored kid gloves covered his hands, and an imitation dia- 
mond glistened in the folds of a shirt front that had been 
very much cleaner. As he stood there, leaning on a gilt- 
headed cane, he stroked his long mustache, and surveyed 
her with somewhat blood-shot eyes. 


110 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Pray do liot be alarmed, young lady/^ said he, in 
smooth and cultivated accents. 

“ Who are you?^^ reiterated Gertrude, partly angry be- 
cause it was not the long and vainly expected Lord Henry 
Follyott, partly because his unexpected appearance had 
really frightened and annoyed her, “ and how dare you 
come trespassing on these grounds?’^ 

“ Who am said the stranger, seating himself on the 
grass under a tree, and beginning leisurely to fan himself 
with the brim of his hat. “ Let me see,^^ contracting his 
eyes with an expression that made the girl start as if she 
had seen herself in a looking-glass, “ which are you — 
Gwyneth or Gertrude?’^ 

“ My name is Gertrude Vivian — I mean Carruthers!^' 
she answered, unwilling to speak, but yet compelled, as if 
she were under the influence of a spell. 

“ Stick to the truth, young lady,’^ said the unaccount- 
able stranger, “ stick to the truth. You are Gertrude 
Vivian — Mary Gertrude — and I am — your father 

Gertrude sprung indignantly up. 

“ You are an impostor, said she. “ My papa died in 
Australia fifteen years ago!^^ 

“ No, he diduH,^’ said the man, still fanning himself, 
and watching Gertrude^s scared, white face, with the 
curious, half - closed eyes, under which a level glitter 
sparkled. “ Gently, my dear, gently. Don’t call the 
servants — don’t make a row; it would only serve to make 
matters disagreeable. I went to Australia because I 
couldn’t help myself; perhaps you may have heard 
about it?” 

“ My papa went for his health,” said Gertrude, in a 
sufl:ocated voice. “ He — he was an invalid.” 

The man laughed a low, unpleasant laugh. 

” My dear,” said he, “ you were a little girl then, and 
they told you all sorts of stories, just as they told you of 
Santa Claus at Christmas-time, and Black Bogey when you 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Ill 


'vouldn’t go to sleep. I went to Australia on account of a 
little business of forgery. I wasnH altogether to blame, 
but I got all the obloquy while the real criminal escaped 
scot-free. My mate died then — a poor, chicken-hearted 
fool that diduH deserve to live. I chanced to be the one 
detailed to take care of him. Well, I changed clothes with 
him after he died, and reported Henry Vivian as dead. 
We weren’t very particular in that especial settlement of 
Australia about such a trifle as a man’s name! Well, 1 
slipped off one day without asking for leave of absence. I 
tried my luck in Canada, and made a mess of it. 1 opened 
a gaming saloon in New Orleans, and failed. I turned 
theater manager in San Francisco, and lost the little that 
1 had left — and here 1 am now. You can easily under- 
stand, my dear little girl, why I don’t herald my approach 
with any unnecessary flourish of trumpets! I’m not Cap- 
tain Vivian in mixed society — I am Mr. Hugo Vassar, of 
the state of Caliioniia, United States of America, over 
here on business connected with issuing a new series of 
railway bonds — and I lie remarkably low. I’m a modest 
man — and always was — and circumstances have intensified 
this proclivity of mine of late. But natural feelings are 
natural feelings, and there’s no harm in seeing my own 
daughter, is there? Come here, Gertrude, and kiss the 
parent that is as good as raised from the dead for you!” 

Passively Gertrude allowed her father — for she could not 
doubt, looking in his face, and hearing his voice, both so 
repellently similar to her own — to draw her to his breast 
and kiss her; but she did not return the caress. 

“You are shivering!” said Mr. Hugo Vassar. “Are 
you cold?” 

“ N — no,” Gertrude answered, in a low tone; “but all 
this is so strange, so sudden!” 

“ Well, it’s natural enough that you should be taken a 
little by surprise at first,” remarked the captain, feeling 
his mustache. “ I was a good deal taken by surprise when 


3 


112 LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 

I got here and found that Louisa was dead, and my girls 
^ queening it in a castle like this, when I have slept on bar- 
ren floors and lived off crusts of late. Whereas the other 
one?’^ 

“ Do you mean Gwyneth?^^ 

“ Of course — whom else should I mean?^^ 

“ She is at the house. 

“ Take me there. Or no — it is best to run no risks. 
Send her down here. 1 must see Gwyneth. Lord! Lord! 
to think how the apple-faced little girls in muslin frocks, 
and wide blue sashes, have expanded into tall, handsome 
young women like this. And I say, Gertrude — 

“ Yes.^’ 

She stopped, with a pale face, and hands tightly clutch- 
ing her book. 

Send down a little loose change, and a bank-note or 
two by your sister Gwyneth. Fm deucedly hard up, and 
to judge by your dress, money must be a plentiful com- 
modity with you.^^ 

Gertrude obeyed, flying through the shrubberies as if she 
would fain escape some horrible and unnatural spell. 
Once safely beyond the ken of the small serpent-like eyes 
that looked back into her own like the reflection of a mir- 
ror, she stopped, and pressed her hand over her wildly 
beating heart. 

“Is this realf* she asked herself. “Is the father 
whom I have been taught to believe dead for so many 
years, really alive? And am 1 the daughter of — an escaped 
convict ■ 

And in the silence of the lovely summer solitude, Ger- 
trude Vivian uttered a low, stifled cry, like the agonized 
utterance of some tortured wild animal, as she wrung her 
hands and panted for breath. 

Five or ten minutes later she walked into the boudoir, 
. where Gwyneth, having abandoned the lace stitch as a 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


113 


bad job, was nestled into a pillowy easy-chair, with a novel 
in her hand. 

Gwyn/^ said she, in a hard, unnatural voice, “ 1 have 
got a piece of news for you. 

“ Lord Henry has proposed cried Gwyneth, jumping 
to the beatific conclusion that the Marquis of Donnifield^s 
second son had returned from London on an early train to 
lay his heart and hand at her gold-tressed sister^s feet. 

“ Nonsense said Gertrude, sharply, “ I have not seen 
Lord Henry Follyott. No — this is news of a far different 
stamp. We have an acquisition, Gwyneth, you and 1. 
We are not orphans, as we had erroneously supposed. 
Captain Henry Vivian, whom we imagined to be dead in 
Australia fifteen years ago, is alive, and sitting at this mo- 
ment on the banks of the Lone Kiver. ” 

“Whatr^ 

Gwyneth sprung from her seat, believing Gertrude to 
have gone mad. 

“Yes, 1 know it seems impossible,^^ said Gertrude, 
grinding her teeth one row upon the other. “ So does 
death, or any other great trouble; but it has come upon 
us, for all that, and we must endure it as best we may. 

And with a strange calm of manner and elaboration of 
detail, she related to Gwyneth’s startled and incredulous 
ears the story of their father’s almost miracuolus appear- 
ance in their midst. 

“ And now, Gwyneth,” said she, “ what are we to 
do?” 

“Do!” cried out Gwyneth, with blazing cheeks and eyes 
aflame. “ Why, there’s but one thing to do. Deliver him 
up at once into the hands of justice. Do not let him im- 
agine for a second that he is to disgrace us with his offen- 
sive presence.” 

“ And let ourselves also be dragged down into the 
depths of infamy, and bear the stamp of a convict’s daugh- 


114 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


ter/^ retorted Gertrude. Think again, Gwyn — that will 
hardly do. 

“ Pay him some money, and send him away to China — 
Africa — Patagonia, the furthest ends of the world said 
Gwyneth, unconsciously plucking at her long, wavy curls 
with a cruel hand. “ Silence him at any hazard. Oh, 
Gertrude, I can now understand why murders are wrought 
in the sudden overmastering passion of some one wild mo- 
ment!’^ 

“ Hush!^’ said Gertrude, authoritatively. “ Don’t talk 
in that way. This is no time to give way to useless bursts 
of temper. He wants to see you — you must go to him. ” 

“1 won’t!” said Gwyneth, passionately. “1 will 
neither see nor speak to him.” 

“ You mud I” spoke up Gertrude. “If he is angered 
no one can tell what the consequences to us may be. We 
must keep him in good humor, let what will befall. Do 
you want to be proclaimed through ail the world as the 
child of a— felon?” 

Gwyneth shuddered. 

“ Oh, never, never!” she cried, faintly. 

“ Well, then, listen to reason. Go to him — pretend 
what rhapsodies of filial affection you can — feign fear of 
his rearrest, and advise him to keep quiet and retired — to 
leave the country, if possible. Give him all the money we 
can both rake and scrape together — promise him more. 
Humor him to the top of his bent — anything to get rid of 
him for the present.” 

“ And then?” 

“ I’ll tell you afterward. I’ve a plan in my head. But 
go quickly. Only suppose he were to get tired of waiting, 
and come up here!” 

“ No one would dream who he was,” said Gwyneth, re- 
luctantly tying on her hat. 

“ Wouldn’t they, though!” retorted her sister. “ I tell 
you, Gwyn, he carries the token of his identity in his face. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


115 


No one that has ever seen either you or me can look at him 
and fail to trace ^ut the relationship. It’s an agreeable 
state of things, isn’t it?” with a little jarring laugh. 

‘‘ Oh, Gerty, it is too, too horrible! I feel as if 1 were 
going mad!” cried poor Gywneth, clasping both her hands 
over her forehead. 

“ There’s no danger of that,” dryly remarked Ger- 
trude. “People live through a deal worse troubles than 
this, and we have just got to screw our courage up to the 
sticking point. Go quickly!” 

“ But you are coming, too?” 

“ Of course I am coming, too. You are a smart girl 
enough, Gwyn, but there are emergencies in which you can 
not be trusted without me. ” 

It was strange how in this hour of ordeal Gwyneth Vivi- 
an sunk into a merely secondary position, submissively al- 
lowing Gertrude to take the lead in everything. She clung 
to the elder sister as a terrified child clings to its mother’s 
skirts — she seemed to have no mind or opinion of her own 
in this sudden and appalling exigency. 

Captain Vivian was standing on the shore of the river, 
exactly where his other daughter had left him, engaged in 
flinging pebbles into the water, when the two girls came 
into the secluded little glade. 

“ You’ve been a deuce of a time coming,” said he, sul- 
lenly. 

“ Papa, Gwyneth could hardly believe my story at first,” 
said Gertrude, smoothly. “ She nearly fainted away, and 
1 was compelled to restore her before she was able to ac- 
company me hither. ” 

And Gwyneth meekly obeying the gentle impulse of her 
sister’s hand on her arm, went forward with startled eyes, 
murmuring: 

“ Papa!” 

“ So this is my other girl, eh?” said the rubicund- 


116 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


visaged man, with an attempt at sentimental softness. 
“ This is Gwyneth, the youngest, eh?"’ 

“ Yes, papa, the youngest,” said Gwyneth, trembling 
all over in his embrace, like a bird within a serpent’s 
grasp. 

“Give me a kiss, then,” said the captain, jocundly. 

Gwyneth lifted her cold lips toward his, but the kiss she 
gave was not a cordial one. 

“ You’re frightened a little, aren’t you?” said the cap- 
tain. “ Well, well, I don’t wonder — it is rather a startling 
combination of circumstances to spring on one like a steel 
trap.” 

“ Gwyneth is nervpus about you, papa,” said Gertrude. 
“ Suppose you should be recognized?” 

“ I mean to keep dark, my dear.” 

“But it is running such a terrible risk,” cried out 
Gwyneth, faintly. 

“Not so very much, after all,” argued the captain, 
rather flattered by this anxiety on the part of the two hand- 
some girls who were still a novelty to him. “ Don’t you 
see, 1 am an entire stranger in this part of the world — and 
even if I wasn’t, who do you suppose is looking for the 
ghost of a man dead and buried in Australia fifteen good 
years ago?” 

“No one, of course, papa,” Gwyneth answered, slowly; 
“ but no one who has ever seen us can fail to perceive the 
startling resemblance that exists between you and Ger- 
trude. And but one inference can be drawn from that re- 
semblance — an inference which may lead to disagreeable 
results. ” 

“ By Jove! 1 never thought of that!” ejaculated Cap- 
tain Vivian. “ The pretty little minx is like me, isn’t 
she, or like what I was twenty odd years ago? Well, well, 
SIC transit gloria mundi. We all change as we get on in 
life!” 

“But don’t you see yourself, papa,” cried out Gertrude, 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 117 

“ how essential it is to avoid the least shadow of sus- 
picion?^' 

“ 1 knew that before, my dear," said the captain, com- 
placently chewing on a blade of grass which he had plucked 
from an overhanging tuft of greenery on the bank. “ But 
a man has natural feelings, and I wanted to look in my 
girls' faces — a man must live, and I've got to the end of 
my bank account. You are rich," surveying his daugh- 
ters' dresses apd jewels. “ Louisa must have made a 
speculation in her second husband! Well, poor child, I'm 
sure, I am the last one in the world to grudge her a bit of 
good luck by way of a change. Come — say we divide, and 
I'll take a little trip into Wales. I always did like change, 
and Wales is a fine country in its more mountainous 
parts." 

“ All we have is at your disposal, papa," said Gertrude, 
fervently. 

“ Of course!" said Gwyneth, responsive to a glance 
from her sister's eye. 

“ Good girls!" said the captain, beamingly. “ I might 
have known you were chips of the old block. I'll not be 
greedy, though — give me a hundred pounds or so, and I'll 
take myself off — for the present, at least. For although 
you are both so dutiful and affectionate," with a twinkle 
in the small hazel eyes that betokened an entire compre- 
hension of the whole situation, “ it's no pleasanter to you 
than to me to have the sword of Damocles hanging over 
the family heads. There was a boy, wasn't there, by the 
second marriage?" he added, abruptly. 

“ Yes, papa," answered Gertrude. “ Do you think 
you had better — I mean, would you like to see him?" 

Captain Vivian shook his head indifferently. 

‘‘No," said he. “ He's nothing to me. And I don't 
choose to run any unnecessary risks. Ah!" with twink- 
ling eyes, as his daughter took out a purse, “ the money. 
That's more to me, just now, than anything else. The 


118 


LOVE AKD TEALOUSY. 


boy^s very well as long as he keeps a fortune in the family. 
Thank you, my love. Another kiss — really, you’re a pair 
of splendid girls — girls for any father to be proud of. 
And now, adieu • — au revoir, as our friends across the 
Channel say. I’ll write when 1 am safely settled, and give 
you my post-office address.” 

“ Do,” said Gertrude, hanging with ostentatious affec- 
tion on her father’s arm. “ In case you should require 
any further checks or remittances.” 

'^You are a good, thoughtful child, my dear,” said 
Captain Vivian, glancing at a small silver watch th|it he 
carried without a chain in the side-pocket of his shabby 
coat. ‘‘ Well, I must step lively to catch the London 
train.” 

“ London,” said Gerty, with some disappointment in 
her accents. “ I thought you spoke of Wales?” 

“ So I did, my dear, so I did; but,” with a downward 
glance at his clothes, I must get a decent outfit first. A 
man likes to appear like a gentleman when he can.” 

And kissing the tips of his fingers toward them from the 
other side of the hedge. Captain Henry Vivian disappeared. 

Gertrude and Gwyneth stood mutely looking at one an- 
other for a second or two — and then the latter, sinking 
down on the rustic seat where her sister had waited so long 
for the lagging footsteps of Lord Henry Follyott, burst 
into tears. “Oh, Gerty, Gerty!” she cried, both hands 
pressed tightly over her eyes, “ what shall we do? What 
is to become of us?” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

DRAWING LOTS. 

But to Gwyneth’s surprise, instead of mingling her tears 
with her own, or breaking out into incoherent exclama- 
tions of mortification and dismay, Gertrude stood quietly 
looking down upon her sister, with a qurious smile on her 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


119 


face and a slant line of hazel fire flashing out between the 
white eyelids that were so close together. 

“ Gwyn/^ said she, “ don^t be a fool! Stop your whim- 
pering and listen to me. It^’s very disagreeable, of course, 
all this, and no one fancies the idea of being connected 
with an escaped convict, but — there are mitigating cir- 
cumstances even in this delightful family muddle of ours.-’^ 

‘^Mitigating circumstances!'^ repeated Gwyneth, an- 
grily, “I do believe, Gerty, your heart is as hard as a 
millstone!" 

“ No harder than other people's hearts," lightly retort- 
ed Gertrude. “ The trouble with you, Gwyn, is, that you 
don't know what you are talking about. Now listen. 
Didn't I tell you 1 had a plan?" 

“A plan connected with — with Captain Vivian?" said 
Gwyneth, pronouncing the two obnoxious words with 
strong distaste. 

“Yes, a plan connected with our dear papa," mocking- 
ly answered Gertrude. “ it came to me like a flash of 
light, while he was practicing the devoted stage parent be- 
fore you came on the scene. If he is our father — " 

“ And he most certainly is," groaned Gwyneth, discon- 
solately. “ Oh, Gerty, why are you so startlingly like 
him?" 

“ In that case, mamma's marriage with Adam Car- 
ruthers was no marriage at all!" slowly uttered Gertrude. 

Gwyneth started up, looking at her sister with eyes of 
horror and surprise. 

“ Gerty, 1 never thought of that," cried she. “ Oh, 
mamma — poor, poor mamma." 

“ Hold your tongue, and don't get hysterical," said 
Gertrude, impatiently. “ I've neither time nor temper for 
burned feathers and sal volatile, and all that sort of thing. 

^Just be good enough to concentrate your attention on 
what I have to say." 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


1;^0 

‘‘ Go on/^ Gvvyueth said, faintly, her face still hidden 
in her hands. 

“It is all as clear before me as a map,^’ went on Ger- 
trude. “ Don’t you see? Mamma wasn’t in fault — she 
had received official information of the death of Henry 
Vivian, in Australia. And she married Adam Carruthers, 
the rich carpet manufacturer. Well, as things have turned 
out — through no fault of hers, mind you — the marriage 
was a mere empty form, the certificate so much waste 
paper. Mamma was never Adam Carruthers’s wife, and 
Sidney has no more legal right to this estate and the Car- 
ruthers’s fortune than you or I!” 

“ 1 see — 1 see. Oh, poor Sidney!” cried Gwyneth, who, 
under the crust of her hard, callous selfishness, had yet 
some lingering spark of womanly feeling and tender com- 
passion. But Gertrude was too accomplished an egotist 
for that. 

“ Gwyn!” cried she, impatiently, “ what an idiot you 
are! Poor Sidney, indeed! Has he not lorded it over us, 
in his arrogant, boyish disposition? Has he not defied our 
wishes and authority? Has he not all but turned us out- 
of-doors, because we would not defer to every capricious 
whim of his beloved Christabel Fane? Poor Sidney! I 
think it’s high time he received a lesson of some sort, to 
check his domineering temper, or he would have gone mad 
with pride and insolence! I, for one, don’t pity him one 
particle!” 

And Gertrude Vivian’s hard, handsome face was like 
adamant as she spoke. 

“ Well,” said Gwyneth, feebly, “ perhaps you are 
right.” 

"^Perhaps! There’s no ‘ perhaps ’ about it. He has 
deserved his fate, and I wouldn’t lift a finger to avert it 
from him. But I don’t want to talk of him now. He is 
but a straw on the current, one way or the other. Now, 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. I2l 

Gwyn, if Sidney Carrutherrs is not the heir to all this 
property, who is?’^ 

Gwyneth looked up with a sudden light breaking over 
her countenance. 

“ Oswald, of course! The Wild Man of the Woods. 

“ Oswald Carruthers, of course,^^ repeated Gertrude, 
triumphantly. “ Adam Carruthers, our step-father, had 
but one brother, and that one brother's only son and heir 
is this same Oswald whom we have snubbed, and flouted, 
and made so much fun of. It was a mistake, Gwyn, but 
this world is full of mistakes, and I donT believe this espe- 
cial one is past rectifying.’'’ 

“ Shall we tell him?” said Gwyneth, eagerly. 

“ Shall we throw up our winning cards, and abandon 
the game altogether? Gwyn, 1 believe what little brains 
you possessed originally are beginning to soften!” cried 
Gertrude, sharply. 

“You needn’t be insulting!” pouted Gwyneth, half in- 
clined to be angry. 

Gertrude laughed exultantly. 

“ Well, I’ll try not to be,” said she. “ But 1 should 
think the whole thing would be as plain as daylight to you. 
Just look here. Oswald, the heir, and Oswald, the half- 
civilized young American, are two very different persons.” 

“ Of course,” assented Gwyneth, her eyes flxed intently 
on Gertrude’s eager face. 

“ And one of us girls must marry him, Gwen?” 

“ But he’s over head and ears in love with Christabel 
Fane,” exclaimed Gwyneth, despairingly. 

“ I congratulate you on the elegance of your expres- 
sions, Miss Vivian,” said Gertrude, with irony. “ But 
you’re off the track this time. There is no danger from 
that quarter. He proposed to Christabel, and was refused, 
a week ago.” 

“ What!” cried Gwyneth, springing to her feet. 


m 


L0V15 AND JKA LOUSY. 


“ A week ago/’ calmly repeated Gertrude. “ Didn’t 1 
tell you you were as blind as a bat, Gwyn?” 

“ But — but,” hesitated Gwyneth, in bewilderment, 
“ Christabel did not tell you?” 

“No, she didn’t tell me, neither did the Gentle Savage 
make a confidante of me, but 1 have eyes, ears, and com- 
mon sense of my own, nevertheless, and 1 used them. 
Goosie,” with a playful tap on her sister’s cheek, “ don’t 
you see for yourself what a curious air of constraint there 
has been between them of late when they used to be such 
friends? Didn’t you notice how they both avoided the pos- 
sibility of being left alone together for a second? Don’t 
you perceive that the long walks, and botanizing expedi- 
tions, and afternoons under the trees, have been tacitly 
dropped?” 

“ Gerty, you are a witch!” cried out Gwyneth. 

“ Nothing of the kind,” said Gerty, laughing. “ I am 
only an ordinary girl, with ordinarily sharp perceptions 
and faculties and an idea of using them. Rest assured that 
we need apprehend no rivalry from Christabel Fane.” 

“ But when she knows — ” 

“She must know, until he is safe in our hands. 
The secret is ours, Gwyn, and ours only. And Oswald 
Oarruthers is just one of those romantic idiots who would 
bolt at once, if he had any idea that a girl meant to marry 
him for his wealth. Let him suppose that it’s a disinter- 
ested love-passage — that he is treasured for himself alone.” 

“Oh, Gerty!” sighed Gwyneth, despairingly, “you 
never can do that, after all our slights and sneers.” 

“ That don’t matter,” said Gertrude, serenely. “ A 
girl always has the privilege of changing her mind, and 
there never was the man yet that couldn’t be flattered into 
any state of temper you chose. And when he is once safe 
in our net — beyond the , possibility of escape,” with a sud- 
den snake-like scintillation of the hazel orbs, “ the truth 
must be allowed to ooze gradually out — that Sid Oarruthers 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


123 


is a beggar, and Oswald the heir of everything. And tlieii 
1 think Miss Christabel Fane will perceive that she has 
made a radical mistake. Up to this time she has had 
everything her own way; now, the tables are beginning to 
be turned. And if ever I have the reins of power in my 
own hands, I swear 1 will be revenged for all the haughty 
airs she has put on, all the fine-lady graces she has prac- 
ticed to annoy me. 

“ Nor am 1 likely to forget them, either,^ ^ retorted 
Gwyneth, with a concentration of malice in her face and 
voice that was more to be dreaded than the extremest 
transports of anger. ‘‘But, Gerty — 

“Well?’^ 

“You talk about our plans — owr successes, ^’hesitated 
the younger sister. 

“ Why shouldn't 

“ Do you intend that he shall follow the fashion of the 
Mormons or the Mohammedans, and marry us both?^^ 

Gertrude laughed. 

“Unfortunately,^^ said she, “the laws of England 
don^t countenance such a very snug and convenient little 
arrangement as that would be. No, Gwyn, he can marry 
but one of us. 

“ And which is it to be?^^ 

The eldest Miss Vivian shrugged her shoulders, the 
mirthful dimples still hovering around her lips. 

“ Gwyn/’ said she, “ you are too bad. 1 can see revolt 
and defiance in every lineament of your face. You have 
let me study out all these delightful plans and possibilities, 
and now you would deliberately snatch the prize from the 
hand that has rightfully won it.” 

“As to rights,” retorted Gwyneth, “I don’t see that 
your chance is one particle better than mine. I am to the 
full as good-looking as you — ” 

“ That’s a mere matter of opinion,” saucily interrupted 
Gertrude. 


124 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Exactly/’ said Gwyneth, more nettled than she cared 
to display. ‘‘ And 1 should relish being the lady of White 
Oaks as much as yourself, Gertrude Vivian.” 

“ Well, don’t let us pull each other’s hair about it,” 
good-humoredly retorted Gertrude. ‘‘ I’m willing to do 
the fair thing about it, and give you an equally good 
chance with myself. You can’t ask any more equitable 
arrangement than that, can you?” 

‘"But I don’t understand,” said puzzled Gwyneth. 
“ We can’t both make love to Oswald Carruthers at once, 
can we?” 

“ Well, not to the best advantage,” confessed Gertrude. 
“ Making love is one of the very few things that are best 
done without help. The undivided opportunity must be 
given to one person alone, if we hope for success. ” 

“ And how are we to decide which it shall be?” suspi- 
ciously demanded Gwyneth. 

“ Draw lots, of course,” said Gertrude. 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, Gerty!” 

“ It is not nonsense,” asserted the elder sister. “ How 
else is the question to be settled? We both want the 
money, and,” with a little grimace, “the husband along 
with it. We both stand about an equally good chance — 
we are neither of us willing to cede our opportunity to the 
other. Of course, the only way out of the labyrinth is to 
draw lots.” 

She drew a tiny pearl-bound memorandum book from 
the belaced and tasseled pocket of her dress — a pearl-bound 
trinket, clasped with silver, and scented with attar of 
roses, and tore one of the tinted leaves put. 

“ Prepare the lots yourself, Gwyn, if you don’t believe 
in me,” said she. 

Gwyneth Vivian took them in her own hand — a hand 
which trembled a little in spite of her resolution to remain 
perfectly calm. 

“ Did I say that I doubted you, Gerty?” said she. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


1^5 


No, but you looked it.” 

“ You are so suspicious,” tearing the leaf in two, and 
writing the words, ‘^Mrs. Oswald Carruthers ” on one. 
Gertrude looked over her shoulder and laughed. 

“Mrs. Oswald Carruthers,” she repeated. “1 wonder 
which of us it will be. Turn your back, Gwyn, and 
arrange them exactly alike.” 

“ All right,” said Gwyneth. “ Now, remember, 
Gerty, no grumbling on the part of the loser.” 

“ You seem to take it for granted that I shall be the 
loser,” said Gertrude, arching her eyebrows. 

“I don^t take anything for granted,” impatiently re- 
torted Gwyneth. “ 1 only want a fair understanding.” 

“ / certainly shall not grumble,” said Gertrude, patting 
the velvet turf with one foot. “ 1 give the whole matter 
into the hands of Fate, and I intend to abide unmoved by 
Fate’s decision. Now, then, where are your magic slips 
of paper?” 

“ Cupid to the rescue I” cried Gwyneth, striving to 
speak lightly and laughingly. 

“ Cupid, indeed,” echoed Gertrude, mockingly. 
“Mammon, you mean! Why, Gwyneth, how your hand 
trembles.” 

“ Draw!” imperiously cried out Gwyneth, and putting 
out a hand that was calm and cool as that of a child at 
play, Gertrude Vivian drew one of the two slips of paper. 

Gwyneth looked at the one that remained in her grasp — 
it was blank. She turned red, then pale. 

“ Mrs. Oswald Carruthers,” she said, with a low court- 
esy to her sister, “ I congratulate you.” 

“ Much obliged, I’m sure,” said Gertrude, composedly, 
tearing up the slip of paper containing the cabalistic 
words, and flinging the tiny shower of snow upon the glit- 
tering surface of the river. “ And now, suppose we go in 
to dress for dinner. I’m half starved to death, and it 
must be long past the hour.” 


LOVK A^JD JEALOUSY. 


VZQ 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A SISTAKE IN THE C4RASS. 

Oswald Carrutheiis was lying in his favorite nook 
under the beech-trees, three or four days after the date of 
the momentous ceremony of drawing lots, quite alone. 
Sidney had gone into the house to study up a question in 
ancient history, about which he and his cousin had differed. 
Christabel Fane had driven down to the village in the little 
basket phaeton, with some luxuries for old Joan, who had 
been ill of an inflammatory rheumatism ever since she had 
set up housekeeping by herself, in a three-story thatched 
cottage, which had proved to be more picturesque than 
healthful. And Gwyneth Vivian had gone out to spend 
the day with Lady Helena Follyott, at Donnifield Priory. 

“If Fve no chance for the Carr uthers fortune,’^ she 
told herself, “ I may as well try my luck elsewhere. And 
the Follyotts are certainly the nicest people in the neigh- 
borhood to introduce mo to fashionable society. 

And so it came to pass that Oswald was quite alone with 
the glancing beech leaves, and the still afternoon sunshine, 
unless, indeed, little Jeannie, a slender black and tan ter- 
rier, curled up close to his arm, might be classed under the 
head of companion. 

As a general thing, the young American was not partial 
to being alone. He had never been trained in those habits 
of study and reflection that make solitude at times the 
best companionship. But of late he had almost always pre- 
ferred being by himself, and as he lay on the grass, his 
hands clasped under his head, and Jeannie^s black muzzle 
nestled close to his face, he was thinking sadly of Christa- 
bel, and all that he had lost when the chance of her love 
drifted hopelessly away from him. 

“I am a fool to allow myself to dwell so morbidly on 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


127 


that disappointment/" he thought. “ Why can 1 not for- 
get her, and make up my mind that there are others as 
fair and winning as she?"" 

But as he pondered these things over and over in his 
heart, gaining no shadow of consolation from the fre- 
quency of their iteration, a light footstep fell on the close- 
cut grass beside him; he started up, much to the dis- 
pleasure of Jeannie, who uttered a short sharp bark of 
remonstrance. 

“ Miss Vivian!"" Oswald exclaimed, in some surprise. 

Gertrude smiled, and nodded from under the shadow of 
her lavender-lined lace parasol. 

“ I wish you wouldn't be so very ceremonious with my 
name. Cousin Oswald,"" said she. “ Why don't you say, 
‘ Gertrude?" Don't you like the name?"" 

“I think it is a beautiful name,’" said Oswald Car- 
ruthers, simply. 

“ It"s a bargain, then,"" said Gertrude, coming up so 
near that her scented scarf fluttered against his face, in 
the fresh breeze. “ We"ll be cousinly and call each other 
by our first names, won’t we?"" 

“ But we are no^ cousins,"" said honest Oswald. 

“ Almost!"" pleaded Gertrude. “ Sidney is your cousin 
— and Sidney is my half-brother. And I have so few real 
relations!"" the last words spoken in accents half pensive, 
half mournful. “ You will call me Gertrude, won’t you?” 

“ Certainly, if you wish it!” he answered, in some sur- 
prise. 

“ And I may call you Oswald?” 

“ That follows, of course.” 

“ Well, then, Oswald,” lifting her bright brown eyes to 
his with a pretty affectation of shyness, “ I’ve come down 
here to beg a favor of you.” 

“ If it’s anythiog 1 can do, it is granted already,” said 
Oswald Carruthers. 

“ 1 want you to forgive me!” murmured Gertrude. 


128 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ To forgive you. Miss Vivi — I mean Gertrude? What 
have I to forgive questioned Oswald, in amazement. 

“ For my rudeness when you first came here,^^ said Ger- 
trude with engaging candor. “For all the disagreeable 
things I have said and done. Oh, I am so ashamed and 
mortified, when I think of them now.^^ 

“ Yes,^^ said Oswald, slowly, “ I was hurt at the time. 
But I soon left off minding it. You called me a barbari- 
an, you and your sister,’’ with a smile. “ And I think 
now, as 1 thought then, that you weren’t so far aside of 
the truth, after all.” 

‘‘ But I know you better now,” said Gertrude, plead- 

ingly- 

“ Do you? And yet 1 am not conscious of having 
changed.” 

His frank eyes look so search! ngly down into her face 
that she was forced to avert her own, while the guilty color 
mounted to her cheek. 

Then, perhaps, it is I that have changed?” said she. 
“ At all events, 1 see how wrong I was, and 1 want you to 
forgive me.” 

“ If there is anything to forgive, it is freely forgiven,” 
said he. 

“ You see,” said she. “ Gwyneth and I are so much 
alone here. Sid is only a boy, and Christabel — well, since 
the Follyotts have taken her up so enthusiastically — ” 

“ Does she go there much?” he asked, quickly. 

‘‘Not so much since you have been here,” said Ger- 
trude. “ But Lord Donnifield is a widower, and he has 
been rather particular in his attentions to Chrissy — and, 
of course, it would be a grand match for Christabel Fane 
to become the Marchioness of Donnifield!” 

“ Yes,” said Oswald, with a contracted brow, “but I 
have heard nothing of all this. ” 

“ Christabel has a very secretive nature,” remarked 
Gerty. “ Gwyneth and I have vainly striven to obtain her 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 129 

confidence ever since she has been here. But she would 
hardly mention it to you.^^ 

“ But I should suppose Sidney — ” 

“ Sidney is utterly unconscious of all that is going on 
around him/^ said Gertrude, with a light laugh. “ Though 
perhaps Chrissy is right in keeping quiet about it. Lord 
Donnifield’s attentions may end in nothing after all, and 
it is so disagreeable for a girl to be talked about — espe- 
cially a girl like Christabel, whose face is her fortune. 
And, really, Christabel has a wonderful nature. 

“ How, wonderful 

Every word of the radiant young blonde stung Oswald 
Carruthers like the prick of a poisoned arrow, but for the 
life of him he could not avoid pursuing the subject, with 
an eager succession of questions and answers. 

“ So much depth and quietness, answered Gertrude. 
“ Such a power of self-repression and concealment. I 
have often told Gwyn that Christabel ought to have been a 
man and a diplomatist!^^ 

I always thought her the frankest and most transpar- 
ently real woman 1 ever knew!’^ broke in Oswald, almost 
angrily. 

“ You men never do comprehend us girls, laughed 
Gertrude. “ Of course I don^t mean that Chris isnT the 
dearest, sweetest girl in the world, but — we are all differ- 
ent, you know. And really, with a prize like Lord Don- 
nifield in view, a girl is justified in a little precaution. 

“You are making Miss Fane out a regular schemer,"^ 
said Oswald Carruthers, turning abruptly round on Ger- 
trude. 

“ Don’t be angry because I speak the truth,” pleaded 
Gertrude, with a soft, appealing light under the white lids. 
“A particular girl like Christabel Fane is compelled to 
make the most of what advantages she has. In this coun- 
try no one thinks of blaming a woman for striving to make 
a good match.” 


130 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“It is not SO in ours!’^ retorted Oswald. But even 
while he spoke, he was deciding within himself that he now 
understood the secret of ChristabeBs unqualified rejection 
of his own suit. “ I am not a marquis,^^ he thought to 
himself, bitterly. “ 1 could only give her an honest man^s 
name, an honest hearths love. And such commodities, it 
would appear, do not weigh against rank and gold on this 
side of the water. And — and yet 1 had thought better of 
Christabel Fane than this!^^ 

For it never entered Oswald Carruthers’s frank and sin- 
gle nature to doubt one word of what Gertrude Vivian had 
so skillfully said and left unsaid. He had never stained 
his own lips by a lie, nor did he deem it possible that Ger- 
trude could stoop to dissimulation, or even equivocation. 
So he walked along at her side, listening absently to her 
talk, even stopping to explain to her the true principles of 
stocking an aquarium, when she appealed to him to know 
the reason why all her dear little gold and silver fishes and 
bright-eyed lizards died in their crystal prison. 

“ If you would help me to try again, I think I should 
have better luck,^^ said she, impulsively. “ 1 am so fond 
of the dear little glittering darlings!'^ 

“ Of course I will help you, if you wish,^^ said Oswald, 
really beginning to be interested. “ But I did not know 
that you cared for such things. 

“ Ah,^^ smiled Gerty, “ that shows how little you un- 
derstand me! I must show you my herbarium all full of 
quotations from the poets, and a collection of seaweeds I 
once made when I was staying with mamma at the Isle of 
Wight. I'm not entirely devoted to dress and fashion, if 
1 am a modern young lady." 

Oswald could not but smile back again as he looked at 
her arch dimpled face, and thought how much prettier she 
was than he had at first thought her. 

“ Her eyes are small," he thought, “ but then, how soft 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


131 


and brilliant they are! And what an engaging smile she 
has!^^ 

When Gertrude Vivian sat down in front of her dress- 
ing-mirror, to prepare her dinner toilet, she laughed aloud. 
Hammond, the maid, looked up in surprise. 

“ Hammond,'’^ said Miss Vivian, “when you have 
dressed me for dinner, you may go up to the waste-room 
in the top of the western tower, and get out an old aqua- 
rium that is tucked away there somewhere. Clean it up, 
and burnish the glass a little, and then put in some peb- 
bles and water, and set it on a table in my boudoir. 

“ Yes, miss,^^ said Hammond, rather amazed. 

“ And look among my school-books in the green-pad- 
locked desk for an old herbarium that one of my govern- 
esses gave me centuries ago, and a collection of seaweeds. ’’ 

“ Where shall 1 be most likely to find ’em, miss?” said 
Hammond, who knew by experience that searching for 
Miss Vivian’s cast-by treasures was like the proverbial 
quest after “ a needle in a bundle of hay.” 

“ Don’t know, I’m sure,” said Gertrude, with a yawn. 
“ Come, be quick with my hair. I don’t propose to sit 
here all day.” 

Gwyneth Vivian came in late to dinner, with her hat 
hurriedly flung aside, and a muslin scarf thrown around 
her shoulders, while in her hand she carried a bouquet of 
exquisite ferns and rosebuds. 

“Late again,” grumbled Sidney. “ Gwyn’s always 
late for everything.” 

“Good-evening, everybody,” said Gwyneth, looking 
gayly around the table as she seated herself. “ I hoj^e 
you’ll all excuse a regular toilet, but Lord Henry kept mo 
so late in the new ferneries, that Harrington had to drive 
like Jehu to get home at all. Peters,” to the footman be- 
hind her chair, “ take these flowers to Miss Fane. From 
your admirer. Lord Donnifield, my dear,” nodding archly 
at Christabel, who sat opposite. 


132 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ From Lord Donnifield? To 7}ie 9” And Christabel 
colored — a very natural consequence of feeling all the eyes 
at table turned simultaneously in her direction. 

“From Lord Donnifield. To you!"" laughingly re- 
peated Gwyneth, “ with his lordship"s best compliments. 
There are a few new ferns there that he thought would 
please you. Dear me! have I made a mistake?’" looking 
around with an air of bewildered innocence. “ Ought I 
to have given it to you in private?’" 

“ There is no reason why you should."" 

And Christabel went on with her dinner. 

But Miss Gwyneth Vivian had not thought it necessary 
to explain that, although the fiowers had actually been 
sent by Lord Donnifield, it was at her own request. 

“ I would so like Christabel Fane to see those ferns. 
Lord Donnifield,"" she had said, artlessly. “ Would you 
mind sending her a few?"" 

“ 1 say, Chrissy, that looks suspicious,"" broke in un- 
conscious Sidney. “ How would you like to be Lord Henry 
Folly ott’s step-mother?"" 

“ Pray, Sidney, don’t talk so foolishly,"" said Christabel, 
beginning to be annoyed. 

“ Lord Donnifield is all but a fool,"" said Gertrude, con- 
temptuouly, ‘ ‘ an arrogant, purse-proud old nobleman who 
thinks the whole world is interested in the Donnifield 
family tree!"" 

“ That is hardly fair, Gertrude,"" said Christabel, whose 
generous nature would not allow her to sit still and hear 
unjust criticism applied even to a mere acquaintance in 
his absence and inability to defend himself. “ Lord Don- 
nifield is naturally proud of his lineage and descent, but 
he is one of the noblest and least assuming men I ever 
saw. "" 

“ Hear, hear!"" cried Gwyneth, lightly clapping her 
hands together, while Oswald’s eyes, silently fixed on Chris- 
tabel’s face, lost not a shade of her varying color or a 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


133 


change in her expression. “I shall certainly make a 
point of informing Lord Donnifield what a clever advocate 
he has at White Oaks. Really, Gerty, you must take care 
what you say about the noble marquis!^' 

“ 1 am sure 1 am quite ready and willing to apologize, 
said Gerty, smiling, “if I have said anything to hurt 
Christabers feelings.^' 

“ Nonsense, interposed Sidney, from his end of the 
table. “ What is old Lord Donnifield to Chris?^^ 

“ That is the very question,’^ retorted Gwyneth, mali- 
ciously. 

“I spoke in his defense, said Christabel, quietly, “ as 
I would have spoken in the defense of any absent friend, 
or even acquaintance, whose character I may chance to 
hear unjustly aspersed. Lord Donnifield is no more to me 
than any other member of the Follyott family. 

“ Oh, exactly — we comprehend entirely, said Gwyneth, 
with mischievous emphasis. 

Sidney began talking about a great boat-race, which was 
just then attracting a great deal of public attention, and 
the subject of conversation changed. But Gertrude knew 
from Oswald Carruthers^s pained and perturbed face that 
her carefully laid plan of attack had been brilliantly suc- 
cessful. He believed, at last, that Christabel had rejected 
him for the sake of wealth and rank — and the few embers 
of hope that, almost unconsciously to himself, were yet 
smoldering on the altar of his heart, died out at that mo- 
ment into the gray ashes of despair. 

“And now,’^ thought Gertrude to herself, “ to catch a 
heart in the rebound! My way lies clear before me at last!^^ 


CHAPTER XV. 

GERTRUDE^S TRIUMPH. 

Gertrude Vivian was sitting at her work in the pleas- 
ant little boudoir that opened from the breakfast-room — an 


134 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


apartment in which Lady Fane had been wont to spend 
much of her time before her third marriage. Wide-open 
French casements opened on the lawn, from which the 
“ drip, drip of the fountain could distinctly be heard, 
and a miniature grove of orange and lemon-trees, grouf)ed 
close to the window, gave a semi-tropic effect in the bland 
morniug sunshine. Evidently her attention was concen- 
trated on something beside the piece of worsted work 
through which her needle traveled with slow and mechan- 
ical motion, and she started nervously as the door opened. 
But when she perceived whose hand had turned the bronze 
knob her face brightened with welcoming smiles. 

“ Oh, Oswald, is it you?^^ she cried. 

“ 1 hope I am not interrupting you?’^ he said, with 
rather an embarrassed air. “ I am only looking for Sid- 
ney.’" 

“ Do come in,” spoke Gertrude, graciously. 

“ Thanks, I am bound on a fishing excursion to-day, 
and—” 

“ Oh, let the fishing wait,” urged Gertrude, infusing a 
tone of pleading softness into her voice, and beckoning 
him to a chair at her side. “ 1 was just wishing to see 
you. I do need some one so much to advise and counsel 
with.” 

“ Where’s your sister?” bluntly demanded Oswald. 

“ 1 had rather not speak to Gwyneth on this subject,” 
answered Gertrude, coloring. 

“ Miss Fane, then?” 

“ To tell you the truth,” with a droop of her golden 
eyelashes, “ it is about Christabel herself that I wished to 
speak. ” 

“ About Christabel!” 

“ Oh, Oswald, pray assist me with your advice? It is 
such a delicate subject— such a—” 

1 am the last person you should consult on any ques- 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


135 


tion pertaining to Miss Fane/^ interrupted Oswald, in- 
stinctively shrinking back. 

“ You are the only one 1 can ask/^ cried Gertrude. “ I 
am so puzzled — so distressed. Oh! please, Oswald, do not 
turn away from me. Is it kind or manly to leave me alone 
in a strait like this?” 

The appeal to his chivalry settled the question. Oswald 
Carruthers sat down again reluctantly enough. 

“ I do not see,” said he, how 1 can be interested in an 
affair like this.” 

""All ChristabeFs friends are interested,” persisted 
Gertrude. And surely you must have seen and observed 
for yourself the strange and unnatural rivalry between 
Lord Henry Follyott and Lord Donnifield.” 

Oswald Carruthers^s face seemed to harden into stone. 

Eivalry in what?” he asked. 

“ In their suit for Christabel Fane.” 

“ Gertrude, you must be mistaken, cried out Oswald. 
“ It is impossible — simply impossible.^* 

“It is too true,” said Gertrude, earnestly. “ And 
Christabel encourages them both — she is playing a double 
game. To be sure, Lord Henry is the youngest and most 
attractive, but then Lord Donnifield is a marquis, and 
Christabel is so ambitious! Oh, Oswald! there is to me 
something so unwomanly in all this, so unnatural.” 

Oswald Carruthers rose and walked once or twice across 
the room; then he returned to his seat again. 

“ Can not you speak to her?” said he. 

“I have, but without avail. She only laughs at me, 
and declares defiantly that she has her own career to 
make, and can not afford to be overscrupulous.” 

Oswald drew a long breath. 

“ I have heard of such things,” said he, “ and I have 
read of them— but I never dreamed to see them acted out 
before my eyes in actual life. And by Christabel Fane, of 


136 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


all persons in the world! Gertrude, I wish to Heaven you 
had not told me this!^’ 

“ But I am so perplexed what to do about it,^^ pleaded 
Gertrude, laying one hand as if unconsciously on^ his. 
“ Ought 1 to warn Lord Donnifield?^^ 

“ Certainly not,^^ promptly answered Oswald. 

“ Or Lord Henry 

He is old enough, and ought to be sensible enough to 
understand his own affairs, constrainedly spoke Oswald. 

“ But he does not dream that his father seriously ad- 
mires Christabel.’^ 

“ Let him find it out, then, at his leisure, said Oswald, 
with a darkening brow. 

“ And poor Lord Honnifield, who is the soul of single- 
hearted honesty — if he supposes that Christabel could be 
guilty of the slightest duplicity — 

“ Lord Donnifield is no child to be put in leading- 
strings!^^ interrupted Oswald. “He is one whom — but,’^ 
with a suddenly softening voice, “ am I speaking too 
roughly? You are crying, Gertrude!’^ 

“ I — I can^t help it,^^ sobbed Gertrude. “ Oh, I am so 
unhappy !^^ 

“ And 1 have made you so,^^ said Carruthers, biting his 
lip. “ 1 deserve the name of Savage. 1 would to God 
that I had never come out of my native wilds. Nobody 
cares for me here, and 1 seem only to be a confiicting ele- 
ment. ” 

“ Oh, Oswald! do not say that,^^ pleaded Gertrude, 
looking up through her tears. “ I care for you.^^ 

“Do you really mean it?” He took her hand, and 
looked with rather a sad smile into her eyes. “ But you 
used to laugh at me the most of any of them, Gertrude.^’ 

“ That was before I learned to like you,^^ whispered she. 
“ Do not go back to America, Oswald. Stay here for my 
sake. 1 have so few friends. Pray, pray do not leave me 
alone. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


137 


“ Gertrude 

She shrunk back. 

‘‘I have said too much/^ faltered she — “ more than I 
meant. But you are a gentleman, Oswald Carruthers — 
my secret is safe with you. 

“ Do you mean, Gertrude, that — 

“Fool!^^ thought Gertrude Vivian, within herself; 
“ will he never comprehend?^' But she only averted her 
face and hid it in her hands, murmuring: 

“ Leave me now, Oswald. I will go away from White 
Oaks, and — " 

“ Why should you go away?" demanded Oswald, with a 
sort of frank desperation. “If you really care for me, I 
should be a poltroon indeed to slink away now. I am 
only Savage Carruthers — I am poor beside your English 
lords and landed gentry — but such as 1 have you are wel- 
come to, if you care to accept it. And myself with it, 
Gertrude." 

Gertrude lifted her soft, brimming eyes, and put both 
her hands trustingly in his. 

“ Dear, dear Oswald, you have made me so very, very 
happy," she murmured. “ And if you think 1 care for 
gold or lands, you do not read my character right. Lcve, 
love, is all I want. My poor heart is starving for love!" 

“ Stop a minute, Gertrude," said the blunt American. 
“ I don't say I am in love with you. 1 do not think I shall 
ever be that again with any one; but I'll try and be a good 
and true husband to you, if you care to take me on those 
terms. " 

“ Dear Oswald," again said Gertrude, but there was a 
momentary compression of her lips, a glitter under her 
level white eyelids that boded anger, even while she modu- 
lated her voice to the liquid sweetness of love's tenderest 
accents. She knew that she had triumphed; but there 
was a bitter drop even in the cup of that triumph. ' Os- 
wald Carruthers was not offering himself to her out of love 


138 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


— but out of pity. And even a schemer like Gertrude 
Vivian scarcely relished a homage that is born of com- 
pulsion. 

“ And you will not return to America now, Oswald?’^ 
coaxed Gerty. 

“ Not at present, certainly. I suppose we shall be mar- 
ried when the year of mourning for your mother is out, 
and then — ” 

“ Need we wait for that?’^ suggested Gerty, who fully 
realized the propriety of landing her fish at once, lest he 
should escape once more into the stream. “ Dearest mam- 
ma would have been the first to wish my happiness secured 
in spite of all conventional forms and rules. And we 
could have a very quiet wedding, you know. 

“ It shall be as you choose, of course, said Carruthers. 
“ Let me see; this is September. Shall we say November 
— the middle of November 

“ Or the first hazarded Gerty. 

“ The first, then,^’ assented Oswald. “ And now I 
must go. Youfil excuse me, Gertrude, wonT you? I 
must have a long walk, and think over all these things. 

“ I wish I could go with you!^^ 

You?^^ He laughed out as he rose to his feet, and 
stretched his strong, muscular arms above his head, like a 
comely young gladiator. “ Why, your little feet would be 
wearied out in a mile, let alone twenty. It’s new life for 
me; I can not breathe freely except on the hill-slope, here 
where there are only the clouds and the breezes to share 
my solitude. ” 

He stooped down and pressed a kiss on Gerty’s forehead, 
and went out. 

“Very lover-like,” said Gertrude, looking after him 
with a contemptuous curve of her full, scarlet lips. “I 
bore him already, only he don’t know it. I shall bore him 
more before I get through with him, however!” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


139 


And she rose and went up to the drawing-room, where 
Gwyneth was half asleep on a sofa. 

“ Eouse up, Gwyn!^^ said she, “ and help me blow the 
trump of victory 

Gwyneth started out of her reclining posture. 

Victory?’" said she. ‘‘ What for?"" 

“ I"ve lassoed the young savage!"" 

“ No!"" cried Gwyneth, radiantly, yet incredulous. 

“ I"ve got him, tight and fast!” asserted Gertrude. “ I 
don’t believe, Gwyneth, my dear, that you could have 
played your cards so neatly in such a limited space of 
time!"" 

“Just give me the chance, and let me see,” retorted 
Gwyneth. “ But are you really engaged, Gerty?"" 

“Yes; and we are to be married on the first of Novem- 
ber next — just a quiet wedding, you know."" 

“You ought to have waited, in common decency, until 
the year was out,"" grumbled Gwyneth. 

“ Yes, and have that charming relative of ours turning 
up like the villain in the play to spoil it at the last min; 
ute,"" said Gertrude. “ My dear, 1 can"t afford to run 
any risks, and I shall not breathe freely until I am Mrs. 
Oswald Carruthers."" 

“ You"re a lucky girl, Gerty,"" said Gwyneth, looking 
with involuntary admiration at her sister, standing there 
with the sunshine on her red-gold hair, and a rose-flush on 
her cheeks. 

“ There"s no such thing as luck,"" said Gertrude, 
brusquely. “ It"s all good management; and now, where "s 
Christabel? I am going to make a confidante of her."" 

“ 1 don"t know, and I don"t care,"" retorted Gwyneth. 

Gertrude laughed, and walked away with the graceful 
gliding motion that corresponded so oddly with her small, 
glittering eyes, and their narrowed lids. She paused a 
minute at the door that led out on the lawn in the direc- 


140 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


tion of the gardens, but Sidney^s laugh presently reached 
her ears. 

“ They are out in one of the summer-houses together/^ 
Gertrude thought, and shading herself from the sun with 
a light parasol, she sauntered out in that direction. 

Just in view of the distant river a rustic arbor had been 
constructed, and braided about with honeysuckles and 
Madeira vines, and hither Sidney^s sofa had been brought. 
He lay stretched out among its black and silver draperies 
reading aloud in “ Nicholas Nickleby,^^ and Christabel sat 
on the arbor steps busied in some light needle- work. 

“ Here comes Gerty,^^ called out the boy. “ Sit down, 
Gerty, and ITl read this part about the school at Dothe- 
boys Hall. It^s too comical for anything 

“ Thank you. I’ll be excused,” said Gertrude, indiffer- 
ently, as she sat down and began fanning herself with a 
Chinese toy of satin and ivory that hung at her belt. “ I 
never did care for Dickens and his vagaries.” 

‘‘Then you’ve no literary taste,” said Sidney, petu- 
lantly. 

*“ And you have no civilized manners,” retorted Miss 
Gertrude, serenely. “ Really, Sid, we 7nust send you to 
boarding-school. ” 

“ Boarding-school yourself. Miss Pert,” cried Sidney, 
losing his temper. “ Look here, who’s master here, you 
or 1?” . 

“Dear Sidney!” remonstrated Christabel, laying her 
hand on his shoulder. 

“ Then let her behave herself,” said Sidney, angrily. 
“ I won’t have her come here nagging me about boarding- 
school. What does she want here? Weren’t we as jolly 
as two thieves without her?” 

“Now, spare us all these high heroics, if you please, 
Sid,” interrupted Gertrude, looking at him with a curious 
expression on her face. “ 1 came here to tell Christabel 
something.” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


141 


“ Well, go on, Miss Vixen. 

But I didn^t say 1 intended to tell youJ^ 

You may then; Chrissy and 1 have no secrets from 
each other. 

“ Are you quite sure of that? Well, it^s nothing so par- 
ticularly private and confidential but that I am willing you 
should hear it,’^ observed Gertrude, calmly. ‘‘It will 
probably come to your ears in the course of time, in any 
event. 

“But what is it?^^ said Christabel, looking innocently 
up from her work. 

“ Can^t you guess ?^^ 

She shook her head, smiling. 

“lam not good at guessing, Gertrude.” 

“ Well, then, I am going to be married. 

“ What?” cried Sidney, starting up. “ You married! 
Hurrah! then we shall get rid of you at last!” 

“ Sweet boy!” said Gertrude, mockingly. “ Yes, you^ll 
get rid of me — or 1 shall get rid of you .^” 

“ But who is it, Gertrude?” questioned Christabel. 
“ Lord Henry Follyott?” 

“ No, not Lord Henry!” 

“ Mr. Hamilton, then?” 

“Nor Mr. Hamilton! A truce to your conjectures, 
Christabel — you^d never guess in the world! I am en- 
gaged to Mr. Oswald Carruthers!” 

“ Gerty, I believe you are lying!” said Sidney, with 
more truth than courtesy. “ Oswald may be a barbarian, 
but he isn’t a fool!” 

“ Thanks!” Gertrude bowed low in the direction of her 
half-brother. “ But whichever he may be, he is engaged 
to marry me 

Christabel Fane’s work had dropped to the close-cut turf 
at her side — her large dark eyes were fixed with a sort of 
incredulous surprise on Gertrude’s face of insolent triumph. 

“ Are you in earnest, Gertrude?” said she. 


142 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Why shouldnH I be in earnest?’^ retorted Gertrude. 
“ A.m I too good for Oswald Carruthers, or is he too good 
for me?’^ 

“ He’s too good for you,*’ promptly responded Sidney. 

“ Hush, Sidney!” said Christabel. “ 1 meant to imply 
neither, Gertrude — only — only 1 was so taken by surprise. 
I hope you will be very happy, I am sure!” 

“ Oswald engaged to our Gerty!” shouted Sidney, with 
a long breath. “ It doesn’t seem possible! What made 
him do it, Gerty?” 

Because he loved me, 1 suppose!” said Gertrude, 
half angrily. 

“ Loved you!” echoed Sidney. “ The idea of any one 
loving a little catamaran like you! Gerty, I believe you’ve 
bewitched the lad! You’ve cast the evil eye upon him!” 

Gertrude sprung to her feet, and walking up to Sidney’s 
sofa with eyes sparkling with rage, made a futile efiort to 
box his ears. 

“ You insolent little viper!” cried she. “ You shall not 
insult a lady with impunity !” 

But Sidney, not unused to this sort of thing, deftly ex- 
tended one of his feet, and Gerty, stumbling over it, 
measured her length, not very gracefully, on the grass. 

“ Smiling angel,” said Sidney, taking refuge behind 
Christabel, who could scarcely help laughing at the scene, 
“ how I wish Oswald could see you now!” 

Gertrude recovered her footing, and stood looking at 
him, with a pale face and lips that quivered slightly. 

“ Sid,” said she, “ you are a remarkably fine lad, and 
not spoiled at all. But for every one of these pranks, in 
which Christabel Fane encourages you to the top of your 
bent, you shall pay, one day, ay, and with interest! Mark 
my words!” 

“ Pray, Gertrude,” urged Christabel, really distressed 
at this ungenerous imputation, ‘^do not think that I en- 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


143 


courage anything like rudeness or unkindness in Sidney, 
for I would be the last person in the world to do so.^' 

But Gerty walked away without another word. 

“Oh, Sidney, how could you?"^ said Ohristabel, with 
troubled eyes. 

“ After all, what did I do?^^ demanded the boy, with 
mischief shining in his eyes. “ I only told the truth. 

“ But she is so angry. And you tvere very rude.” 

“ For both of which self-evident facts I care not a fig,” 
said Sidney. “ She is a hateful, ill-tempered vixen, and 
if it wasii^t for you, Chris, 1 would turn her out of White 
Oaks bag and baggage. And if Oswald really has been 
insane enough to ask her to marry him, he’s a bigger fool 
than I credited him for being. That’s all.” 

“ She says that she is engaged to him, Sidney.” 

“But she is such an outrageous little liar,” remarked 
the lad, serenely, “ one never can believe a word she says. 
And I say, Chris, I always thought Oswald Carruthers 
liked you, ” 

Christabel’s face was scarlet as she bent to recover her 
work from the ground. 

“ I hope he likes me still, Sidney,” said she. “ But for 
all that, I think Gertrude Vivian spoke the truth to-day 
when she said that she was engaged to your cousin. ” 

“ Then I pity him, that’s all,” said the boy, screwing 
his pale, pinched features into a grimace. “ However, 
that’s no reason we shouldn’t go on with ‘ Nicholas Nickle- 
by.’ Just reach me the book, Chrissy!” 

But Christabel heard no more of the words from the 
printed book. With her sewing on her lap, she sat look- 
ing dreamily down toward the river, wondering why Gerty 
Vivian’s words had pierced her heart like a stab.” 

“ It can’t be that I care for him,” she told herself again 
and again, “ because I should not marry him if he were 
free to-morrow! But he is a frank, noble fellow, and 
Gerty is the last girl in the world whose temperament 


144 


LOVE A^TD JEALOUSY. 


would assimilate with his. I hope he will be happy — but 
oh! lam afraid he does not know Gertrude Vivian as we 
know her!^^ 

And as Ohristabel stitched on, listening mechanically to 
the tones of Sidney^s voice, as she listened to the rustling 
of the green trees overhead, and the humming bees among 
the Madeira blossoms beside her, she felt a vague heaviness 
of heart for which she was puzzled to account to herself. 

“ WasnH that splendid?’^ cried out Sidney, flinging up 
his book and catching it again, at the end of his chapter. 

“ Wasn^t what splendid?^’ Ohristabel looked up with a 
bewildered air. 

“The horsewhipping that Nicholas gave old Squeers? 
I do believe, Chris, youVe not been listening?^^ 

“ I beg your pardon, Sidney, said Ohristabel, penitent- 
ly, “ I — 1 was thinking of something else. 1 did not hear 
the last part of the reading. 

And Sidney jumped up, made a grasp at his crutches, 
and hobbled ofl to t^e house in high dudgeon. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

‘‘is this true?'’’ 

A DREARY December sunset was flinging its shower of 
bloody beams over the colonnaded entrance to White Oaks 
— a sunset that broke redly through the leaden drifting 
clouds above it, like a strong man who starts up on in his 
dying bed. All day the wind had soughed mournfully 
through drifts of dead leaves, and occasional sweeps of rain 
had pattered noisily against the casement; but now, at 
sunset, a crimson bar of light lay vividly against the sky, 
and all the western windows shone and glittered as if they 
had been painted in lake and carmine. 

Over the gate-way at the lodge a triumphal arch of hem- 
lock boughs and brilliant clusters of scarlet berries had 
been erected, bearing the legend “ AYelcome Home,” and 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


145 


in front of the main portico a second festoon fluttered in 
the wind, with the same inscription, woven in mistletoe 
and white everlastings, and Mrs. Carruthers looked smil- 
ingly up at it as she paused a second on alighting from the 
carriage which had brought the new-married pair from the 
railway station. 

“ Do you see, Oswald?’^ she cried out joyously. “ Wel- 
come home! Isn^t it a sweet idea of Gwyn's?^^ 

“ Eather more poetic than correct, said Mr. Car- 
ruthers, as he followed, giving a pile of shawls, rugs, and 
novels to the maid who had preceded them— a pretty, 
lisping French girl, whom Gertrude had engaged in Paris 
— “ inasmuch as White Oaks isn’t our home, and never 
will be.” 

Gertrude turned around and looked him in the face, 
with a saucy smile dimpling her lips. 

“ Stranger things have happened,” said she. 

At the same moment the ponderous walnut wood doors 
swung open — the butler on one side and the housekeeper 
on the other bowed low, and Mrs. Carruthers swept into 
the entrance hall with an air (as Mrs. Lattin, the house- 
keeper, afterward declared), “as if all White Oaks be- 
longed to her. ” Oswald followed, with his usual careless, 
swinging stride, and the next moment they stood in the 
warmth and perfume of the great drawing-room, where 
fires burned on the two marble hearths, and wax-candles 
shone like constellations of white stars in the huge chande- 
liers, whose silver chains crossed and recrossed each other 
above clusters of glittering prisms. In the scented gloom 
of the domed conservatory at the south end, pale-green 
lamps swung from the ceiling like fairy moons, and the 
grand Arabian picture opposite glowed as if one could 
walk directly into his groves of palm, and dream on the 
shores of the clear lake where the southern sunset WOfS 
mirrored, a sea of liquid gold. 


146 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Sidney stood to welcome them in the center of the room, 
not without a certain boyish dignity of his own. 

“I am glad to see you back again, Oswald,” said he. 
“ And Gerty, too.^^ 

Oswald shook his outstretched hand frankly — the bride 
courtesied low. 

“ Your condescension, my lord of White Oaks,” said 
she, “ is really charming!” 

Sidney laughed. “ Getting married hasn^t changed you, 
Mrs. Carruthers,” said he; “you’re the same aggravating 
little Gerty as ever. How often have you boxed her ears 
since the wedding-day, Oswald?” 

Oswald Carruthers looked at Gerty with a half smile. 

“ I haven’t got to that yet,” said he. 

“ I should think not,” retorted Gertrude, as she swept 
past her half-brother, gave Christabel a patronizing kiss, 
and abandoned herself into Gwyneth’s arms. 

“ Come up to my dressing-room, Gwyn,” said she, 
“ and while Marie is doing my hair I’ll show you the 
lovely set of rose coral I got for you in Venice. ” 

The two sisters left the room arm in arm, while Oswald 
still stood leaning an elbow on the mantel, and looking 
down at Christabel, whose hand he held. 

“ I am glad to see you again, Christabel,” said he, with 
a simple frankness which sought no expedient of conceal- 
ment, “ I am glad to be at White Oaks once more!” 

“ I thought you liked traveling,” said Christabel, re- 
suming her seat on a low divan, while the rosy color 
bloomed with unwonted brightness in her cheeks. 

“ Traveling? So I do — but it is not my idea of travel- 
ing to be dragged about from one shop or another all day 
long.” 

“ So Gerty has victimized you, eh?” said Sidney, with 
malicious relish. “ Well, I’m not sorry for you, Oswald; 
you will remember that I warned you against the matri- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 147 

monial shackles! Did you buy me a set of those carved 
pearl chessmen in Paris?^^ 

In the meantime, Gertrude Carruthers and her sister, in 
the former^s dressing-room, were inspecting laces, jewels, 
and trinkets innumerable, * while Marie Bonguet, the 
Parisian maid, piled her lady^s red-gold hair in braids and 
puffs above her head, transfixing it at the back with a dia- 
mond arrow, and twining the coils with silver-green smilax. 

Presently, however, Gertrude put down a set of filigree 
silver, studded with small pearls, which she had taken out, 
and looked at her sister. 

“ You're not attending to a single word I say, Gwen!" 
said she. “ You've got something on your mind! What 
is it?" 

Gwyneth Vivian frowned a little, and pointed to the 
maid who stood with her back to them, selecting a lace 
jabot from the bride's traveling trunk. 

“ Marie," said Mrs. Carruthers, composedly, “ 1 don't 
like this smilax, it lacks color. Go down and ask the gar- 
dener for a sprig of heliotrope, or a half -open camellia bud, 
or something more decided. Select it yourself : any of the 
servants will find the gardener for you!" 

Little Marie courtesied a “ oui, madame” and tripped 
away. Mrs. Carruthers turned to her sister. 

“ Now, then," said she, “ what is it? But I can guess 
— it is le bon pere /" 

“ Yes," said Gwyneth. “ Oh, Gerty, what are we to 
do? You had scarcely been gone a week when he ap- 
peared, with new demands for money!" 

“ What did you tell him?" 

“ What could 1 tell him? 1 gave him money, what lit- 
tle I could raise, and sent him away. And only yesterday 
he came back again!" 

“ Dear papa!" said Gertrude, with mock sentiment. 
“ He can not bear to be separated from his daughters, even 
for a month. Where is he now?" 


148 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


‘"Stayiug at the White JIart in Somersden. And 1 
have pledged myself to pay his board there. He wanted to 
come to the Fane Arms, in Fane’s Bridge, hut I told him 
it would not do. He is too like you, and your face is too 
well-known in Fane’s Bridge. He passes for an artist who 
is sketching the scenery there. ” 

“ A pretty time of year for an artist,” said Gertrude. 
“ However, I don’t care very much. The risk is greater 
for him than for us. And perhaps I may need him as an 
after-witness in the pretty little tableau I intend to produce 
at White Oaks!” 

^^When?” 

“ The tableau, do you mean?” 

“Yes.” 

“ To-night!” 

“Oh, Gerty!” 

“ And oh, Gwyneth!” repeated Gertrude, mockingly. 
“ Why not? Do you know when Sid stood there to-night, 
ready to burst with boyish conceit and arrogance, and wel- 
coming us to White Oaks, as if all the world, and half a 
dozen other planets into the bargain, belonged to him, I 
would have given half what I shall presently possess for 
the privilege of saying to him then and there: ‘ You little 
base-born reptile, you have no more right to be here than 
the servant who blacks your boots!” 

Gwyneth Vivian almost shrunk from the sinister light in 
her sister’s eyes as she spoke. 

“ Gerty,” said she, “ what a magnificent actress you 
would have made.” 

Gertrude laughed and shrugged her shoulders. 

“ One can do a great deal of acting in real life,” said 
she. “ And here comes Marie with her hands full of 
flowers.” 

Half an hour or so later Mrs. Oswald Carruthers de- 
scended to dinner in a dress of pearl-colored silk, all puff- 
ings, flounces, and loops, in the latest Parisian mode. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


• 149 


“ Am 1 late?^^ she said, taking her husband ^s arm. 

“ Not more than fifteen minutes,^^ said Oswald, with an 
air of resignation. 

Sidney, who had been fidgeting on his sofa, rose at once. 

“ Come, Chris, said he, drawing ChristabeFs arm 
through his, ‘‘ let^s go in. 1 wanted them to go to din- 
ner without you, Gerty, just to teach you a lesson in 
punctuality, but Christabel wouldn^t hear of it.^^ 

“lam much obliged to Miss Fane,’^ said the bride, with 
a toss of her head. 

“ Pray don’t mind Sid’s nonsense!” said Christabel, 
troubled because she saw traces of annoyance in Oswald’s 
face. 

“ Nonsense?” echoed the lad. “ Let me tell you, Ma- 
dame Carruthers, it’s very good sense! Seven o’clock 
means seven o’clock in this country, whatever it may mean 
.across the Channel. However,” with a good-humored 
laugh, “ seeing that it’s your wedding-reception here, 
we’ll suspend the full rigor of the law in your favor this 
time.” 

“1 hardly know how to express my gratitude for such 
clemency,” said Mrs. Carruthers, with a smile that dis- 
played her glittering teeth in anything but a mirthful 
manner. “ Eeally, Sidney, you are growing more than 
ever like the grand pasha of the Ottoman Empire!” 

Oswald Carruthers looked gravely at his wife as she sat 
down opposite the great silver epergne piled high with 
fruit and fiowers. 

“ Gertrude,” said he, “ don’t tease the boy!” 

Mrs. Carruthers looked up at him with half-closed eyes 
and head slightly drawn back — in what Sidney called her 
“ cobra capello attitude.” 

“ Is this a specimen of the future, Oswald?” said she, 
in a voice audible to him alone. “ Do you intend to side 
with all the rest of the world against me?” 

“ My dear girl, I only want you to be reasonable.” 


150 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Gertrude laughed. 

“ To expect reason from a woman said she, aloud. 
“ I am surprised at your lack of savoir faire. Gwyn, have 
you changed cooks since my departure? This white soup 
is delicious!” 

The dinner progressed without any more wordy warfare 
than this, until the servants left the dining-room, after 
bringing in the dessert, and Sidney, pouring out the first 
glass of champagne, formally proposed the health of Mr. 
and Mrs. Oswald Carruthers. 

“No half filling your glass, Christabel,’^ said he. 
“ Every one has got to drink this toast in good earnest. 

“ Do you expect me to make a speech?” said Oswald. 
“ Because I never made one in my life, and 1 certainly 
don’t intend to begin now!” 

“ 1 will make one for you, my love,” said Gertrude, 
rising in her place, with the sparkling chalice of wine in 
her hand. Sidney stared. Oswald Carruthers looked at 
his wife in surprise, but Gertrude went on, with the ut- 
most self-possession: “ And my speech shall be a simple 
amendment of the standing toast. ‘ The health of Mr. 
Oswald Carruthers, the true heir of White Oaks!’ ” 

Sidney looked at his half-sister as if he discredited her 
sanity. Christabel grew pale, then red, and Oswald start- 
ed up from his chair. 

“ Gertrude!” exclaimed he, “ do you know what you are 
saying?” 

“ Perfectly!” said his wife'. “ 1 am saying that you are 
the heir of White Oaks — and that yonder boy,” with a 
contemptuous glance toward Sidney, “ has no more right 
to his place in this house, nor even to the name he bears, 
than your footman, or the ragged children who play in the 
streets at Fane’s Bridge! Do you want to know why? 
Because, when my mother married Adam Carruthers, her 
first husband, Henry Vivian, was living — because Henry 
Vivian is still alive! And of course, all Adam Car- 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


151 


ruthers^s property descends to the next of kin, his only 
brother's only child — in other words, to Oswald Oarruthers, 
my husband!'^ 

Sidney grew ghastly pale, and clutched instinctively at 
ChristabeFs hand. She rose and came hurriedly to his 
side, passing her arm around his shoulder, as if to protect 
him with her slender strength against some unseen foe. 

‘‘ Oswald, cried out the boy, with a choking voice, 
‘‘ is this true? But it canH be!” with a sickly attempt at 
a smile. It^s all Gerty^s nonsense."’^ 

Oswald Oarruthers had risen also, and stood with folded 
arms looking at his wife. He turned at Sidney ^s piteous 
appeal, and fixed his eyes, full of unutterable compassion, 
on the lad^s white face. 

“ It is true, Sidney,^^ said he in a low tone. “ God 
help you, my boy — it is true.’^ 

“And this property — these estates, which I have been 
brought up to consider my own — gasped Sidney, sup- 
porting himself partially on Christabel Fane^’s arm, partly 
on the carved back of his chair. 

“ They are no more yours than the queen’s palace,” in- 
terrupted Gertrude. “ Do you understand, Sidney? You 
are despoiled, even of the name you are called by. You 
are not a Oarruthers, for your mother never was married 
to your father. You have been living off my husband’s 
money all these years. He has a legal right to demand 
back every cent, and turn you a beggar into the streets. 
He—” 

But Oswald Oarruthers had risen and come around to 
his wife’s side of the table, laying his hand on her shoul- 
der. She recoiled with a little scream. 

“ Oswald, you hurt me.” 

“Hurt you!” he repeated in a voice of intense anger, 
all the more intense from his evident effort at its repres- 
sion. “ It is high time some one hurt you. Look at that 


152 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


helpless boy. Do you know that every word you speak is 
a lash across his bare and quivering heart 

“ Yes, I know it,^^ answered Gertrude, with a strange, 
exultant shine in her eyes. 

“ Then,^’ with set teeth and features rigid with emo- 
tion, “ why do you not hold your tongue 

Mrs. Carruthers jerked herself out of her husband’s 
grasp, and turned defiantly upon him. 

“ Because I am only speaking the truth!'’ cried she. 
“ Because 1 have not been bullied, and insulted, and trod- 
den upon all these years to forego the sweet morsel of re- 
venge at last. Let me go, Oswald; 1 will speak on.” 

“ Will you?” He advanced close to her, and lowered 
his voice so that it should be audible to her alone. “ By 
the heaven that is above us both, if you do, I will take 
you by the throat, as I would a rabid dog, and choke the 
words on your lips!” 

Gertrude shrunk back. 

; “ Savage!” she cried; would you murder me?” 

“ I don’t know what I might be tempted to do,” mood- 
ily retorted the bridegroom, “ but this I warn you — be 
careful not to try me too far. You used the right word — 
I am a savage at times.” 

“ All that I have spoken is true, nevertheless,” said 
Gertrude, cowed a little, but still full of sullen persistency. 

Sidney Carruthers had sunk down into his seat again. 

‘‘ Gertrude,” said he, “ all this may be a mere assertion 
on your part. How can you prove it?” 

Mrs. Carruthers looked at her husband. He nodded 
gloomily. 

“ Go on,” said he; “ since you have begun this work, 
let It be finished quickly, in God’s name!” 

“ I can prove it,” she said, “ by the presence and testi- 
mony of Henry Vivian himself, now within a few miles 
from here. ” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 153 

“An escaped convict!’^ said Christabel, bitterly. While 
Gwyneth clasped her hands in mute dismay. 

“ Yes, an escaped convict boldly repeated Gertrude. 
“ I wish to extenuate nothing. He is at your mercy. But 
the facts remain the same.'’^ 

“Gertrude knows she is safe,” broke from Sidney’s 
white lips. “We none of us love her overmuch — but she 
need fear no covert attack upon — upon my mother’s hus- 
band!” 

And poor trembling Gwyneth breathed free once again. 

“ If my wife has finished her tale of marvels,” said Os- 
wald, who still stood erect and pale under the glittering 
silver chains of the chandelier, ‘ ‘ she will perhaps allow me 
to speak a word or two upon this subject. I knew all 
along that Henry Vivian was alive!” 

“ You knew it all along?” echoed Gertrude, incredu- 
lously. 

“ I mean 1 have known it ever since I arrived in Eng- 
land. Captain Vivian came over from New York in the 
‘ Novo Mundo ’ with me. I only saw him once — but his 
is not a face to forget. He had been drinking, and talked 
freely — more so than he would probably have done had he 
been in his sober senses. And the moment I saw Gertrude, 
I put two and two together, and comprehended the whole 
situation.” 

“ You knew that you were the heir?” gasped Gwyneth 
Vivian. 

“ 1 knew that in the eyes of the legal world I was the 
heir,” said Oswald, quietly. 

“ And you never asserted your rights?” cried Christabel. 

Oswald CaiTuthers looked down, first at his own gigantic 
frame, then at Sidney’s slight misshapen figure. 

“ Which of us two should you think best qualified to 
fight the world on his own account?” said he, slowly. 
“ You must have a poor opinion of me, indeed, Christabel 
Fane, if you • think 1 would ever have made an effort to 


m 


LOVE Al^D JEALOUSY. 


oust that boy from what he deemed to be his rightful in- 
heritance. 

“ Oswald, you are a fool!^^ cried out Gertrude. He 
bowed ironically. 

“lam obliged for your good opinion, Mrs. Carruthers,^^ 
said he. “ At least, I am not a knave! And now I wish 
it distinctly understood that whatever my rights are, I 
waive them totally and entirely in my cousin Sidney^s 
favor. I do not want White Oaks, nor have I ever court- 
ed fortune. 1 have enough — quite as much as I want. 
Let matters remain precisely as they were before Gertrude 
unbridled her foolish tongue on the subject!’^ 

And Christabel Fane, looking into the young man’s face, 
began to realize for the first time what a mistake she had 
made in spurning this noble nature from her! 

“ But you m 2 is^ take it,” said Gertrude, hotly. “ A 
man can not fiing away his own like this, under the En- 
glish law. ” 

“ I do not want the Carruthers estate,” slowly repeat- 
ed Oswald, “ and nothing shall induce me to accept it!” 

“ Sid can not legally hold it,” gasped Gertrude, half 
mad at the horrible idea of losing all that she had schemed 
and plotted for. “ He s/iall not, if I drag the matter 
through all the courts in England!” 

Oswald turned and looked at her, with bitter contempt 
in every feature of his countenance. 

“ Gertrude,” said he, “ I thought I had married a true- 
hearted woman, and not a grasping harpy, ” 

“And I,” retorted Gerty, suffocating with passion, 
“ supposed I was wedded to a man, not to an idiot.” 

“ Pray,” said Sidney, recovering his voice with an effort, 
“do not let us talk any more. I — there is but one course 
left to me — 1 am not my father’s legitimate son, it seems. 
And,” speaking with a great lump swelling in his throat, 
“ I rejoice from the bottom of my heart that mamma is 
dead, and out of reach of this cruel trouble. For Gerty 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


155 


would not have spared her any more than she has spared 
me."" 

“ I certainly should not,"" interposed Gertrude. “ Right 
is right, and justice is justice, whoever may be the suffer- 
ers from their decrees. "" 

I am glad,"" repeated Sidney, “that she is in her 
grave, and at rest. As for me, it only remains for me to 
thank my cousin Oswald — if he will still allow me to call 
him cousin — for his long forbearance, and assure him that 
1 will leave White Oaks as soon as possible."" 

“ You will do nothing of the kind,"" said Oswald, com- 
ing to Sidney’s side with one or two long strides, and pass- 
ing one arm around the boy’s neck. “You will continue 
to live here at White Oaks. There shall be no change, or 
1 will at once go back to America. Do I not tell you that 
I will not touch this cursed property?” 

“ We shall see whether you will or not,” said Gertrude, 
defiantly. 

Sidney held out his hand to Christabel. 

“ Chrissy,” said he, “let us go. You will not leave 
me, dear, will you?” 

Christabel burst into tears as she folded the boy to her 
heart. 

“ So help me Heaven! 1 will never leave you, Sid,” she 
cried out. “Our lots in life shall be cast together as long 
as you may need me, and nothing but death shall part me 
from you.” 

“Quite a scene!” sneered the bride. “Really, one 
would think you must have rehearsed it half a dozen 
times.” 

“ Then let’s go,” said Sidney, shrinking before the bit- 
ter satire of his half-sister’s voice and manner. “ Come, 
Chrissy, come.” 

“ Gertrude,” said Oswald, looking sternly at his wife, 
“ if Sidney and Christabel leave this house, I leave it also 
within the hour. Under these circumstances it would be 


156 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


well for you to endeavor to prevail upon them to remain 
at White Oaks.^^ 

Gertrude turned scarlet, then white. 

“ Of course/^ she stammered, “ I shall be ^lad if Sid- 
ney and Miss Fane will remain as our guests, speaking 
the last words in defiance of Oswald’s warning glances. 

“ Christabel,’^ said Oswald, interruptingly, “ you will 
stay here? For Sidney’s sake.” 

And Ohristabel Fane, looking down into Sidney’s pale, 
wearied face, and remembering all his infirmities as well 
as the fact that he had been cradled in the lap of luxury 
from infancy upward, answered, in a low and hesitating 
voice: 

“ Yes, for Sidney’s sake. For the present, at least.” 

“ I thank you, Oswald, and you too, Gerty,” said the 
boy, speaking with an effort. “ Chrissy, will you ring for 
Alexis? I feel tired, and I should like to go to bed!” 

But Ohristabel herself, murmuring a word or two of ex- 
cuse to the assembled company, went up to Sidney’s room 
with him. 

“ Chrissy,” said he, with a sickly smile, when they were 
alone, ‘‘ it seems like a bad dream, don’t it? But,” with 
a shudder that convulsed all his frame, “ it’s real.” 

“ Sid dear, dear Sid,” whispered the girl, “ be brave! 
Bear this like a man! Eemember that it is no fault of 
yours, my boy, and thank Heaven that the Carruthers es- 
tate fell into hands as good and noble as those of your 
cousin.” 

“ Oswald has behaved like a brick, hasn’t he?” said Sid, 
smiling faintly again. “ But as for Gertrude — Good- 
night, dear, here comes Alexis.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

WATER AND OIL. 

The next day guests from London arrived, to dine and 
sleep at White Oaks; Mr. Gold worthy, the banker, and 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


157 


Mr. March, the family solicitor of the late Adam Car- 
ruthers, both of whom had been telegraphed for by Oswald 
Carruthers, who was determined, if it were a possible 
thing, to cede all his right, title and interests in the estates 
to his cousin Sidney. 

Mr. Goldworthy hemmed and hawed, and doubted the 
legality of any such transfer. English property, he said, 
had always descended in the direct and legitimate channel, 
and although he heartily pitied poor little Sid, yet it was 
an undoubted fact that he must suffer for the circumstance 
of his mother^s second marriage being plainly illegal. 

Mr. March, however, a slim, neat old gentleman, with 
snowy hair like white floss silk, and a keen, blue eye, 
expressed himself quite differently. Of course he agreed 
with Mr. Goldworthy that Sidney Carruthers was not the 
present heir to White Oaks, but, as the property was not 
entailed, there existed no bar to his becoming such, if it 
was Mr. Oswald Carruthers peculiar fancy to make him so 
by deed and title regularly executed, except the fact that 
Sidney absolutely and totally refused to accept any such 
splendid gift at his cousin^s hands. 

Sidney had taken counsel with his friend and adviser, 
Christabel Fane, while Gertrude was in hysterics in her 
own room, at the possible melting away of her joyously 
anticipated dreams, and Gwyneth attending her with a 
bottle of smelling-salts, and abundance of sisterly con- 
dolences, and Oswald was in solemn conclave with the 
guardian and the man of law. 

“ Christabel,^^ said the boy, looking up with large, dark 
eyes, that seemed to have grown sunken and haggard 
within the twenty-four hours, “ I want your help and ad- 
vice. Tell me what to do!^^ 

Christabel Fane was leaning over her sofa, her eyes filled 
with ineffable pity and tenderness, her hand clasping one 
of his cold palms. 


158 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Dear Sidney/’ said she, “ do not ask me. Decide for 
yourself. ” 

‘‘ I can’t, Chrissy,” he answered, hoarsely. “ I need 
your counsel. I have neither mother nor father to fall 
back upon, and you must stand my true and faithful friend 
as you always have been. What shall I do? Shall I ac- 
cept Oswald’s offer?” 

“ Sidney,” said Christabel, slowly, do you want me to 
tell you what I should do were I in your place— and what 
1 should advise you to do?” 

“ Tell me what you would do were you in my place,” 
said the boy, looking with piteous wistfulness into her face. 

“ I should decline his offered generosity. I should re- 
fuse to receive what is not rightfully mine. I should 
gladly go out from the perpetual torture of Gertrude’s 
taunts and sneers, into an atmosphere which would, at 
least, be far removed from that of enforced charity and 
toleration! I should live on a crust a day and a cup of 
cold water if it were needful! That is what I, Christabel 
Fane, would do. But, oh, Sidney darling, everything is 
so different with you. You are tender, delicate, sensitive 
to all the hardships which have hitherto been warded away 
from you, and my heart counsels me to tell you to take it 
in the same spirit in which Oswald Carruthers offers it — at 
least a portion of what would only have been yours!” 

No,” said the hoy, quietly; “ I see it all now, Chrissy. 
And if you will go with me — ” 

“ What home have I, Sidney, but with you?” cried out 
Christabel, a bitter sense of her own loneliness surging 
across her heart. “ I, too, am utterly alone in all the 
world! Heaven has sent us two to each other!” 

“Then it’s all right,” said Sidney, bravely. “I will 
tell Oswald that I can not accept his generosity, however 
kindly it may be meant. And after all, Chrissy, it’s only 
going out to seek our fortunes like the young adventurers 


LOVE AND JEALOUSV. 


15 ^ 


I used to envy when I read of them in books. And I shall 
not fear the world as long as you stand by me, Christabel!^^ 

So that, when Sidney was summoned into the presence 
of Mr. Goldworthy, Mr. March, and Oswald Carruthers, 
his mind was made up. 

‘‘ 1 thank you, Oswald, from the bottom of my heart, 
said he, with a simple dignity which seemed far beyond his 
boyish years; “hut I canH take your princely gift. It 
isnH mine — it would not be mine if you gave it to me forty 
times over, with all the safeguards and precautions of the 
law to enforce the gift!^^ 

“ Then,^^ said Oswald, bringing his closed fist down on 
the library table with a thump that made Mr. March start, 
“ neither will 1 take it! 1 will go hack to the wilds, 
whence I heartily wish I had never come, and leave this 
confounded muddle to right itself.’^ 

“ You’ll be a great fool if you do,” said Sidney, throw- 
ing his arm caressingly over his cousin’s shoulder. “ 1 
should like to know in what way that will better matters? 
No, no, Oswald, stay here and enjoy what is your own. 
You will make a great deal better lord of the manor than 
I should have done, and — ” 

“ And turn you out into the world!” bitterly cried Os- 
wald. “ By Jove! if I had known the mischief that Henry 
Vivian was going to make, I believe 1 would have cheer- 
fully pitched him over the guards of the ‘ Novo Mundo ’ 
six months ago!” 

Mr. Gold worthy coughed behind his hand and looked out 
of the window. Mr. March affected to be deeply absorbed 
in the leaves of a superb photograph album containing 
views of Paris and Vienna. 

“ That don’t follow at all,” said Sidney. “Now look 
here, and be sensible, Oswald. Chris and I will stay on 
here, for the present at least, if you insist upon it.” 

“ I do, most assuredly.” 

“ As guests, of course,” added Sidney. 


160 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ No!’’ with another sounding crash of the closed hand 
on the desk; “ as honored and rightful inmates!” 

“ Well, we won’t quarrel about words,” said Sidney, 
smiling, although there was a mi-st of tears in ifis eyes. 
“ We’ll stay, at all events. Will that suit you?” 

“ No, it won’t!” 

“ It has got to, though!” said Sidney. “ Don’t be un- 
reasonable, old chap. ” 

Oswald Carruthers put both his arms around the boy’s 
neck, and bowed his head a second on his shoulder. 

“ Oh, Sid, Sid!” said he, huskily, “ I feel like a brute 
— a villain! I would lay down my life never to have 
crossed the threshold of White Oaks!” 

And a sob, deep and strong as the upheaving of an 
ocean wave, broke from his breast as he spoke. 

So matters were temporarily 'adjusted. Oswald Car- 
ruthers, to the infinite delight of his wife, reluctantly as- 
sumed the position of master at White Oaks, Sidney set- 
tling into a kind of guest, and Gertrude had achieved the 
great ambition of her heart at last. 

But her bliss was not entirely without alloy. To her, 
Christabel Fane \^as the “ Mordecai in the King’s Gate,” 
who infused a perpetual current of bitterness into her cup 
of triumph, and Sidney Carruthers was a constant thorn in 
her side, particularly as Oswald sternly insisted upon the 
utmost courtesy and graciousness on her part toward their 
unwelcome inmates, and Gertrude, who feared nothing else 
in the heavens above, or the earth beneath, or the waters 
under the earth, did fear Oswald when the red bar fiashed 
out upon his forehead, and his voice took that low, peculiar 
tone which warned her that he was not to be trified with. 

“ He has been brought up among the Indians and wild 
beasts,” Gerty confidentially assured Gwyneth, “ until he 
has grown to be a semi-Indian himself. Do you know, 
Gwyn, I think he is capable of actually beating me, if once 
he is roused to the requisite pitch?” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


161 


“ Oh, Gertrude!^’ 

“He is, though,’’ said Gerty. “And I never made 
such {^mistake in my life as I did when 1 thought I could 
manage him so easily I ‘ He has a temper like a half-tamed 
tiger! But he’ll find out that 1 have one, too, if he doesn’t 
look out!” 

And Mrs. Carruthers, forced to keep up an outward 
semblance of amiability and graciousness, betook herself 
diligently to secret mining and sapping. 

“ Christabel,” said she, sweetly, one day, “ I have re- 
ceived a letter from my iriend. Miss Vavasor, of London. 
She is coming down to White Oaks to-morrow to spend a 
few days with me. ” 

“ Indeed,” said Christabel, rather puzzled to think how 
this piece of intelligence could possibly concern her. 

“ And I really don’t know,” added Gerty, reflectively, 
“ where I am to put her.” 

“ The octagon rooms?” suggested Christabel. 

“ I am having them fitted up for dear Lady Foxhaugh 
and her daughter.” 

“The crimson suite, then? Lady Fane used to think 
they were more comfortable than even the octagon rooms,” 
observed Christabel. 

“ Yes, but Miss Vavasor isn’t strong, and 1 should not 
like to condemn her to climb an extra pair of stairs. ” 

“ The brown damask room?” 

“ Altogether too small for a guest of Miss Vavasor’s 
social importance,” said Gertrude, decisively. “ To tell 
the truth, dear Christabel, 1 was wondering whether it 
would be too much to ask you to give up your rooms? 
The brown damask will do very well for you while Miss 
Vavasor is here, and — ” 

“ Certainly,” assented Christabel, quietly, although she 
asked herself, not without a pang of secret annoyance and 
mortification, whether there were not enough rooms at 
6 


1C2 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


White Oaks without turning her out of her apartments to 
suit the whims of a capricious London fine lady. 

‘‘ Of course Tm sorry to trouble you, and all that,^^ 
added Mrs. Carruthers, lightly; “but I know you won't 
mind, dear?" 

“ Certainly not," answered Christabel, still in the same 
cheerful tone; and Gerty was half vexed that she did not 
show more spirit about it. 

“ I shall have to make myself materially disagreeable 
before that girl will take the hint," thought Mrs. Car- 
ruthers, who was secretly determined to lose no time in 
ousting both Sidney and Christabel from her dominions. 

As Oswald crossed one of the long Turkey-carpeted cor- 
ridors an hour or so subsequently, he met a servant carry- 
ing trunks and dressing-cases, followed by Anne Hartsuff, 
with a pile of dresses over her arm. 

“ Who is going away?" he asked, stopping suddenly. 

“ No one, sir," said Eobinson. 

“ What are you carrying those trunks for, then?" 

“ If you please, sir, they're Miss Fane's," interposed 
Anne, who sided openly with the minority, while Eobinson 
had repeatedly expressed his opinion in the servants' hall 
that “ missis was a-goin' to be the better horse in them 
there stables, and master had better look alive, that he 
had!" 

“ Miss Fane's!" Oswald stood still with contracted brow. 
“ Where are you taking them?" he demanded. 

“ To the brown damask room, sir," said Eobinson. 
“ It's Mrs. Carruthers's orders. She wants the corner 
rooms for London company. " 

“ Put down those trunks," said Oswald, abruptly. 

Eobinson hesitated. 

“ It's Mrs. Carruthers's special orders, sir," said he. 

“ Put down those trunks," said Mr. Carruthers. 

Now, up to the present time, Mr. Eobinson had not 
been brought in special contact with his new master, and 


L07E AND JEALOUSY. 


163 


believed that it was his interest to consult the pleasure of 
Mrs. Carruthers in all details of his conduct, whether large 
or small. Moreover, Anne, Miss Fane^s maid, was look- 
ing on, before whom Robinson had made great boasts, and 
he could not endure the idea of humiliation in her eyes. 
So, without obeying, he began to argue the point once 
again. 

“ But, sir, Mrs. Carruthers— 

Mr. Carruthers took the trunk quietly from Robinson^s 
broad shoulders, and setting it as gently on the floor as if 
it were made of spun glass, and then grasping the amazed 
Robinson by the collar, he flung him down-stairs as if that 
functionary had been a wooden toy. . “ Get out of this 
house, said he, in accents of suppressed rage, “and 
never cross my threshold again! Your wages will be sent 
you at the porter’s lodge.” 

And Robinson, terrified nearly out of his wits by his 
master’s ashy- white face and blazing eyes, limped into the 
wintery sunset, without even stopping for the ceremony of 
a hat. 

“ Anne,” said Mr. Carruthers, turning to the maid, 
“ call some one else to take those things back where they 
belong. It is not my pleasure to have Miss Fane’s apart- 
ments changed.” 

“Oswald!” cried Mrs. Carruthers, hurrying down the 
corridor from an opposite direction, “ what was that noise? 
What has happened?” 

“ The noise?” repeated her husband, dusting his hands 
with his pocket-handkerchief, as if to clear them from 
some unpleasant contact. “ It was only Robinson going 
head foremost down-stairs.” 

“ Did he fall?” 

“No, I pitched him. Pity some of his insolent bones 
were not broken,” added Oswald, half smiling, “ I assure 
you it is not my fault if they remain intact.” 


1G4 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ What was he doiug?’^ questioned Gerty, more and 
more bewildered. 

“ Taking the things from Miss Fane^s room to an- 
other."^ 

“ But^ Oswald/' cried Gertrude, flushing up to the 
roots of her hair, “ I ordered him to remove them." 

“ And I ordered him not /" 

‘ ‘ Oswald, are my wishes of no consequence in this 
house?" exclaimed Gertrude, angrily. “ I wanted to use 
Christabel Fane’s room. I asked her if she had any objec- 
tion to change, and she said she had not — though why I, 
the mistress of this house, should go begging and prayirig 
the permission of a mere stranger who is sponging her liv- 
ing out of us, before I can venture to consult my own 
wishes, I don’t know — and — " 

“ See here, Gertrude," said Mr. Carruthers, laying his 
hand on his wife’s arm, and unconsciously tightening his 
grasp on it until she twitched it away with a cry of pain, 
“ this is my house, not yours. Miss Fane is my honored 
guest, and 1 do not choose that she shall be disturbed or 
annoyed in any way whatsoever. If you want to change 
your own room, do so, but let Christabel and Sidney alone, 
unless you want to raise such a storm in the house as you 
will not readily forget. ’’ 

And Gertrude, bold and willful as she was, shrunk in- 
voluntarily before the lurid fire in her husband’s eyes. 

At this moment Christabel Fane herself came toward 
them. 

‘'Gertrude," said she, “ 1 do not understand you. 1 
had prepared all my things for removal, when Anne 
brought back word that I was to remain in my present 
apartments." 

Mrs. Carruthers was silent a moment or two, but a 
warning glance from her husband brought the hurried 
words to her lips. 

“ I — I have altered my mind," said she. 


“ I will not 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


165 


disturb you; Miss Vavasor will occupy the octagon rooms, 
after all.^^ 

“ This is very strange/’ said wondering Christabel, look- 
ing from Gertrude to Oswald in her surprise. 

“ A great many things are strange in this world,” said 
Oswald, smiling. “ Is Sid in his room, Christabel? I have 
shot a beautiful little cardinal bird for him to stuff. I’ll 
take it to him.” 

But Mrs. Oarruthers’s quiet and determined spite was not 
80 easily stemmed as her husband had supposed. It was 
scarcely a week afterward that Christabel and Sidney, who 
had gone out together to see the skaters on a pond fifteen 
miles away, were detained beyond the usual dinner hour. 
Mrs. Carruthers had guests staying at White Oaks — Miss 
Regina Vavasor, a dashing, well-rouged young lady of a 
certain age, and Lady and Miss Foxhaugh, the former the 
well-to-do widow of a wealthy contractor, who had been 
intimate with Adam Carruthers during his life-time; the 
latter a gushing young girl of sixteen, not yet out of 
school. Dinner was announced at the usual hour. Mr. 
Carruthers, who was playing chess with Agatha Foxhaugh, 
looked quickly up at his wife. 

“ Christabel and Sidney have not yet returned,” said he. 

“ How do you know?” asked Gertrude, biting her lip. 

“ Because if they had I should have seen the carriage 
from the window,” answered Oswald, hesitating over a 
doubtful move. 

“ Oh,” said Gerty, dryly, “ you have been watching for 
Miss Fane’s return, then?” 

“ I have been sitting by the window,” returned Oswald, 
“ and I have not yet parted with the use of my eyes and 
ears!” 

“ Are we to wait?” shortly demanded Mrs. Carruthers. 

“ Why not? You waited dinner twenty minutes yester- 
day for Lady Helena Foliyott, and she didn’t come, after 


166 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


all. Take care, Aggie,^' to Miss Foxhaugh, “ your knight 
is leaving the king in check 

“ Shall I give orders for the dinner to he put back fifteen 
minutes, madame?^^ respectfully asked the old butler. 

You heard what your master says!^^ answered Ger- 
trude, with a hard, metallic ring in her voice, and a brow 
clouded over. 

More than a quarter of an hour afterward, the phaeton 
rolled into the avenue, and presently Miss Fane came down, 
fiushed with the haste she had made in dressing. 

“You have waited for me, Gertrude?^^ said she. “I 
wish you would not do that. 

“ You may thank Oswald for cold soup and dried-up 
fish!^^ viciously retorted Gertrude, as she touched the bell 
to indicate that dinner was to be served. And Mrs. Car- 
ruthers could not but observe the troubled droop of Christa- 
beFs eyelids and Sidney’s face of open annoyance. 

Miss Foxhaugh stared with open eyes. 

Miss Vavasor, evidently enlisted on the bride’s side, 
tossed her head and scrutinized Christabel insolently 
through a pair of jeweled eyeglasses, as she whispered 
something in Gwyneth’s ears. And altogether things were 
made very unpleasant for the two tardy members of the 
family. 

The next day cards for a dinner and evening party at 
Donnifield House arrived at White Oaks — cards including 
everybody but Miss Fane. Gwyneth Vivian had been talk- 
ing confidentially to Lady Helena Follyott, and Lady 
Helena, honestly believing Christabel to be an artful 
schemer, had left her out purposely. Mrs. Carruthers was 
all exultation. 

“ It will be a most select and recherche afiair,” said she, 
“ and 1 shall be so glad of an opportunity to introduce 
dear Regina Vavasor to some of our county neighbors!” 

“ But,” cried Sidney, looking over the perfumed drift 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


167 


of cards that lay on the inlaid marqueterie table; “ where 
is Ohrissy’s invitation? There's none for Chrissy." 

Gerty turned over the cards. 

No/' said she, with a shrug of the shoulder, “ there 
is none. And I don't wonder much. Lady Helena has 
never fancied Christabel Fane since that dead set she made 
—so unsuccessfully— at Lord Donnifield. But, of course, - 
that makes no difference as to our accepting the invita- 
tion." i 

It makes just this difference to me," observed Os- 
wald, calmly, that I shall not go!" 

“ Not go!" echoed Gertrude. “ Not go to Donnifield 
House! Do you know, Oswald, that an invitation there is 
the greatest social honor that can be accorded to you?" 

1 fail to appreciate it when a member of my family is 
left out so markedly," said her husband. 

‘^But you must go, Oswald!" almost screamed Ger- 
trude. 

“ I certainly shall not!" 

“That's right, Oswald!" cried Sidney, clapping his 
hands; “stand up for Chrissy! I should do exactly the 
same if 1 were you!" 

“ Will you hold your tongue, you base-born little mis- 
chief-maker?" exclaimed Gertrude, turning short around, 
with glittering eyes, and head drawn back in serpent 
fashion. 

Oswald stepped forward, took her by the wrist, and 
walked her straight to the door of the apartment. 

“ Gertrude," said he, in a low, stern voice, “ go to your 
own room until you can learn to exercise better control 
over your tongue!" 

“Oswald! Oswald!" she cried, “let go! You are 
spraining my wrist!" 

“ Go to your own room, I say!" he reiterated. 

“ I will not," shrieked Gertrude, in passionate accents. 

“ I am no child, to be shut up in a dark closet." 


168 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“If you do not, I will ring for the servants to carry 
you!” said Oswald — and Gertrude, sobbing, and scarlet 
with hysterical anger, was forced to obey. 

“Gwyn,” cried she to her sister, who followed her 
almost immediately, “ I will not endure this! 1 will have 
a divorce! No law can compel me to live with such a brute 
as Oswald Carruthers!” 

“ And lose White Oaks, and all the Carruthers wealth?” 
said Gwyneth, scornfully. “No, Gerty, don’t be a fool! 
You have plotted and bargained for all this; now make 
the best you can of it!” 

As the drawing-room door closed upon his wife’s retreat- 
ing figure, Oswald Carruthers turned and walked slowly 
toward the window, standing there with folded arms, and 
eyes so full of mute, passionate despair, that Sidney scarce- 
ly dared to speak to him. Presently, however, he rose and 
limped to his cousin’s side. 

“ Oswald,” said he, gently, “ don’t mind Gerty. 1 do 
not. I know her tongue of old, and 1 am used to it. ” 

“ Sidney,” said the young man, putting both his arms 
around the boy’s neck, and drawing him close to his 
breast, “ can you forgive me for all the ruin 1 have 
wrought you?” 

“Don’t talk so, Oswald! You are not to blame be- 
cause old Vivian didn’t die when he ought to have done!” 
urged Sidney, trying to speak jestingly. 

“ Sid, look here,” said Oswald, abruptly, “ 1 have been 
trying to achieve impossibilities. I see now that nothing 
short of a miracle will induce water and oil to mingle to- 
gether.” 

“ Meaning the lady of the manor and your humble serv- 
ant?” questioned Sidney. 

“ Meaning you, and Christabel, and my wife. I’ve 
tried it long enough. I give it up now. ” 

“ You want us to go?” 

“ No, I want you to day, Gertrude has been urging 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


169 


me for a long time to go to London for the spring and 
summer months. 1 will let her have her way. We will 
go up to London as soon as I can hear of a suitable resi- 
dence, she and I, and Gwyneth Vivian. You and Chris- 
tabel shall remain here. God forbid that I should oust 
you from a home which is yours — far more than it is mine. 
And it will at least be pleasant for you, Sid.^' 

“I should think so,^^ returned Sidney, with a comical 
elevation of the eyebrows. “ If you could only stay with 
us, too, Oswald — 

He smiled and shook his head. 

“ That would hardly answer, Sid,"’ said he. “ But per- 
haps I can come down once in awhile. There’s the car- 
riage for your drive, Sidney.” 

Mrs. Oswald Carruthers revolved the state of affairs over 
in her own mind, and resolved to go to Donnifield House, 
in spite of her husband’s contumacy. 

‘‘ If 1 give in to his caprices new, I may keep on giving 
in to the end,” said she to Miss Vavasor, who fully agreed 
with her that a husband was not to be humored over- 
much, more especially as she. Miss Vavasor, had sent her 
maid to London for a pale-pink silk dress and a parure of 
diamonds, with a view to this especial occasion. 

Miss Fane chanced to be in the drawing-room when Mrs. 
Carruthers came down in her white silk robes, with pearls 
worn in the glistening braids of her red-gold hair, and a 
necklace of superbly large pearls encircling her white neck. 
She glanced up, scarcely knowing what to say, for Sidney 
had told her all that had transpired the day before. 

“ Gertrude,” hesitated she, “ I am sorry that Oswald 
will not accompany you to-night.” 

Gwyneth turned on her with fluttering eyes. 

“ And do you know why he will not gor” demanded 
she. 

‘‘ Because he thinks all the family should have been 
invited, I suppose.” 


170 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Because/’ said Gertrude, “ you have wheedled and 
lured him into believing that you are of more consequence 
than his own wife ! Because you are usurping my place in 
his heart and love. Do not think, Christabel Fane, that 
1 am blind to all your maneuvers! I see them, and 1 will 
yet thwart them!” 

And she swept out of the room, her snowy robes rustling 
softly after her, and the pearls glistening in her lustrous 
braids, leaving Christabel Fane stricken almost into stone 
by the cruel words she had spoken. She went up into 
Sidney’s room and sat down beside him, taking his hand in 
hers. The boy looked up in surprise from his book. 

“ Chrissy,” said he, “what has happened.^ You are 
pale — you tremble like a leaf. ” 

“ Sidney,” said she, “ we must go away from here.” 

“ Go away from here? Why, Chrissy, didn’t 1 tell you 
about the London plan? And Oswald — ” 

“ Never mind Oswald; never mind the London plan. I 
tell you we must go away from here — you and I. Ger- 
trude has spoken to me to-night in a way which I can not 
and will not endure from any one. ” 

“Oh, confound Gertrude!” cried out the boy, im- 
patiently. “ Is she always to come trailing into our gar- 
den of Eden, like the serpent she is?” 

“ Listen, dear,” said Christabel, laying her cheek, hot 
and tear-stained, against his; “ we will keep our own 
secret — we will do or say nothing to hurt Oswald’s feelings 
— Oswald, who is the best and noblest of men, and has 
already a heavy cross to bear — ” 

“ God bless him!” interposed Sidney, fervently. 

“ But,” went on Christabel, “ we will remain here 
quietly, as if we intended to take advantage of his kind- 
ness, until they are safe in London. Then ive will take 
flight also!” 

“Where?” 

“ Somowherc— anywhere— what matters it whither we 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


171 


go? I can do a great many things, and yon caTi stuff birds 
for the taxidermists, or carve out those beautiful little 
walnut toys and brackets for the shops, and earn a deal 
of money. 

“ So I can,^^ cried Sidney, to whom the whole affair 
wore the aspect of a new and delightful adventure. 

“ And no one, not even Oswald, shall know where we 
are. We^ll be independent, Sid!^^ 

“ Agreed!” cried the lad. “ Oh, Chrissy, I am so glad 
you thought of it!” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

ASORIEE MUSICALE. 

“The new maid!” said Mrs. Oswald Carruthers; “let 
her come in.” 

Mrs. Carruthers was sitting before the fire in her dress- 
ing-room, an elegant little nook, with walls hung with 
pale-blue silk, festooned away from broad panels of mir- 
ror, and a dressing-table and chiffoniers of pale-blue 
enamel, with handles and standards of dazzling ivory, 
carved to imitate slender columns. The ceiling was cov- 
ered with fluted blue silk, fastened to an ivory center- 
piece representing a group of water-lilies, and the floor 
was covered with Aubusson carpet in pearl gray, with a 
deep-blue border of fleur de Us. For the house in Dela- 
van Place was the most splendid that money could secure, 
and even Gerty Carruthers could find no fault with the 
casket which her husband had provided for his connubial 
jewel. 

Mrs. Carruthers herself was dressed in a white cashmere 
wrapper cut Watteau fashion, and fastened around her slim 
waist with a cord and tassels of gold; her hair, confined in 
an invisible net, hung carelessly down her back, and her 
little feet were thrust into slippers of quilted white satin, 
for she had but just risen, and was waiting for her break- 


173 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


fast to be served. Opposite to her sat Gwyneth Vivian, in 
a morning negligee of cherry silk and ribbons, that suited 
her own darker type of beauty, and contrasted well with 
Gertrude^s cerulean surroundings. 

“ It^s a girl recommended to Beckford by the police- 
man,^^ said Mrs. Carruthers, yawning. “ His name is 
Bryan — a most respectable man, Beckford says. I do hope 
she^ll suit — it^s such a nuisance, Marie^s going away just 
because I happened to speak a little sharp to her. Serv- 
ants have no business with tempers. Why, here she 
comes as Mrs. Beckford, the housekeeper, ushered in a 
tall, pretty girl, with a profusion of bright flaxen hair 
coiled around a small head, dark-gray eyes, and a singu- 
larly piquant and attractive style of face. Her dress was 
of gray stuff, made plainly, but with a certain style and 
neatness that Gertrude’s eyes was not slow to detect; her 
collar and cuffs were scrupulously white, and she wore 
dark kid gloves on her hands. 

“ At the service of madame,” said the girl, courtesying 
low. 

Gwyneth looked intently at her. 

I am sure I have seen that girl somewhere before?” 
said she to herself. 

Mrs. Carruthers nodded patronizingly. 

“ You are French!” said she. 

“ Madame, I was born in Paris.” 

“ What do they call you?” 

“ Florine Dufour, madame,” speaking with a pretty 
deference that struck Mrs. Carruthers not unfavorably. 

“ How old are you? You look rather young!” lan- 
guidly questioned Gertrude. 

“ Madame, I am seventeen.” For Florine, whose ideas 
of integrity were not exact, thought it expedient to add a 
few months to her actual age, where so important an 
affair as a situation was in question. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 173 

“ Can yon sew? Dress hair? Combine toilet? Trim 
hats?^^ 

“ Madame, you will find me expert at all these things. 

She took off her hat, removed one or two hair-pins, and 
shook down her own golden hair about her shoulders, a 
rippling mass that fiowed nearly to her waist. 

“ Pardon, madame,^’ she said, “ and you shall see for 
yourself! Behold!’^ 

In a minute she had built up a glittering golden tower 
on the top of her head, all puffs and bandeaus. 

“ That is a la Marie Antoinette,’^ said she. “ Now, 
you shall see Nell Gwynne,” with an instantaneous 
change; “ and now the ill-fated Empress Josephine! Ma- 
dame likes it?” for an expression of gratified amusement 
came over Mrs. Carruthers’s face. “ Oh, believe me, I 
can do much more than this! My brain is French — and 
my fingers follow it!” 

“You are certainly skillful,” said Mrs. Carruthers, 
“ and 1 believe I will try you. You may make it all right 
with Beckford about wages, and references, and that sort 
of thing. And then come right up and see what you can 
get up in the shape of a carriage toilet for me. I go out 
at two o’clock. Beckford will give you the keys, and 
show you where the things are all kept.” 

“ Stop!” said Gwyneth, as the girl was turning away. 
“ I have seen you before. Your face is familiar.” 

Florine smiled, disclosing two very roguish dimples on 
cheek and chin. 

“You are right, mademoiselle,” said she. “ Have you 
forgotten a poor girl who was once accused of stealing a 
purse at a restaurant door, but who was honorably ac- 
quitted, through the testimony of an old Quaker lady?” 

A fiash of recollection irradiated Gwyneth’s face. 

“Yes,” said she. “1 do remember now. And that 
little street vagrant was you?” 

“Time changes us all, mademoiselle,” with a smile. 


174 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


I have since been living with a hair-dresser, and have 
almost forgotten the wild little Florine of the streets.’^ 

“ You may go/’ said Gwyneth, with an imperious gest- 
ure of dismissal, and Florine Dufour glided on velvet foot- 
steps out of the sumptuous little apartment, her breath 
bated, and her eyes cast demurely down. 

No sooner was she at the end of the long, luxuriously 
carpeted hall, however, than suddenly assuming a sort of 
second identity, she flew down the broad stairs, her hand 
scarcely touching the rail, or her feet the ledges, and 
alighted like a little gold-tufted bird in Miss Beckford’s 
room. 

“ Hurrah!” cried she, waving her hat around and 
around her head. “ I’ve got the place. She’s engaged 
me!” 

Derwent Bryan — in other words our old friend A 67, 
was sitting by the Are chatting comfortably with the 
housekeeper until such time as his official duties should 
commence. His face brightened. 

“ Glad to hear it,” said he. “ And how much wages 
are you to have, eh, Florine?” 

“ Mrs. Beckford is to settle that,” said Florine, glee- 
fully. “ Isn’t it jolly, Derwent? Now don’t make it too 
little, Mrs. Beckford!” 

The housekeeper smiled indulgently. She was a grand 
lady in her way, and the secret terror of all the maids, but 
Florine Dufour, as A 67 observed, “ had a way with her 
that would coax blood out of a stone!” 

“ We’ll call it twenty-flve pound a year until we’ve tried 
you,” said she; “ and then, if you suit Mrs. Carruthers — 
she ain’t an easy one to satisfy neither — ” 

“ I’m not afraid,” said Florine, saucily. 

“ Then,” went on Mrs. Beckford, “ we’ll may be give 
you a raise. As for reference, Mr. Bryan and Mrs. 
Hetherege are quite enough, I think, to meet any one’s 
views. ” 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


175 


‘^Much obliged, ma’am, for your good opinion,” said 
Derwent, with a bow. “ And now that this matter’s set- 
tled, 1 guess I’ll be going. You’ll try and do your best, 
Plorine,” laying his hand kindly on hers. 

“ Oh, don’t worry about me said the girl, indiffer- 
ently. ‘‘I’m all right.” 

“Good-morning, Mrs. Beckford— good-bye, Florine.” 

His eye sought hers with a sort of eager wistfulness, but 
Florine, who was occupied in examining an engraving on 
the wall, never turned her head as she answered care- 
lessly: 

“ Good-bye.” 

“ Child,” said Mrs. Beckford, when the door had closed 
behind the stalwart form of A 67, “ why didn’t you thank 
Mr. Bryan for helping you to this first-class situation?” 

Florine turned around, her violet eyes opened wide in 
innocent surprise. 

“ Thank him!” said she, “ what should I thank him 
for? He got me into Mrs. Hetherege’s, and now that the 
Hethereges are gone out of business, it’s his affair to get 
me somewhere else.” 

“ But what claim have you upon him, in particular?” 

“ No claim,” said Florine, with a light laugh. “ Only 
he’s a good-natured sort of a fellow, and he likes me! 
That’s all. And now, Mrs. Beckford, tell me all about 
this fine lady and her ways! Because, you know, I’m 
bound to suit her! I like this home, and I like you, and 
I fully intend to stay here!” 

And the deft-fingered little thing, with only native tact 
and an instinctive natural taste of her own to aid her com- 
parative inexperience, dressed Mrs. Oswald Carruthers for 
a reception that night in a style which satisfied even that 
lady in all particulars. 

“ Keally,” said Gerty, surveying herself in the swinging- 
glass; and tHtrning from side to side to get a complete view. 


176 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ you have done very well for the first time/^ Which was 
unusual praise from the lips of Mrs. Carruthers. 

‘‘ I knew I shwild suit, madanie/^ said Florine, with 
clasped hands hanging down before her, and head slightly 
drooped, like that of the divine Venus di Milo. 

Meanwhile Gwyneth Vivian, in her own apartment, was 
dressing fo the same reception, a brilliant and unique 
affair, to be given by one Mr. Rosse Vavasor— the brother 
and only living relative of the identical Miss Regina 
Vavasor who had visited at White Oaks so lately. 
Gwyneth dispensed with the services of a maid, most gen- 
erally. She had not been fortunate enough to secure a 
rich husband, and the inte^st of the trifiing sum be" 
queathed her under her mother’s will was not enough to 
allow her to indulge in all the expensive luxuries that ap- 
pertain to wealth. She had spoken of a special attendant 
for herself, as one of the natural and necessary concomi- 
tants of the Carruthers household in Delavan Place. But 
Gertrude had lifted her brows and opened her eyes in dis- 
approval. 

“ My dear child,” said she, “ it’s none of Oswald’s busi- 
ness to provide a maid for you. We’re not made of 
money. ’ ’ 

Gwyneth bit her lip. 

“ But what shall 1 do?” exclaimed she. 

“ Why, as other portionless girls do, of course. Do 
without, if you can’t afford it out of your allowance. Of 
course you are always welcome to any help my maid can 
give you, when I am through with her. ” 

“ You always were mean and selfish, Gerty,” cried out 
Gwyneth, unable to disguise her anger and pique; “ but I 
wouldn’t have thought this of you.” 

“ Don’t call hard names, please,” said Mrs. Oswald Car- 
ruthers, blandly. “ As for being meairand selfish, it isn’t 
every married woman would give her sister all the advan- 
tages I am ready to shower upon you. home like this,” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


177 


glancing around at the superbly decorated room, society 
such as I move in, and the benefit of my chaperonage 
everywhere.^’ 

“ And grudge me a maid!” cried Gwyneth, sarcastic- 
ally. 

“A maid is your own affair,” remarked Mrs. Car- 
ruthers. 

I’ve a great mind to ask Oswald myself,” said 
Gwyneth, unable to control her chagrin. “ He isn’t as 
stingy as you are. He would give me what 1 wanted if — ” 
If you do, Gwyneth Vivian,” said Gertrude, compress- 
ing her lips, and darting slant lines of fire from between 
her half-closed eyes — an expression that poor Gwyneth had 
learned to know and dread — “ if you dare to come med- 
dling between myself and my husband, then, look out for 
your own future. The same roof will no longer be large 
enough to shelter both you and me. ” 

“ Now don’t be angry, Gerty,” pacifically entreated 
Gwyneth. ‘‘ Of course I was only in joke, and as for a 
maid, I dare say I shall get on capitally with a little help 
now and then from yours, or one of the house- maids. ” 

“I don’t fancy that kind of joke,” said Gertrude, an- 
grily, as she flounced out of the room. 

For Gertrude Carruthers possessed in no small degree 
the elements of miserliness in her nature, and although 
she loved her sister Gwyneth better than any other person 
in the world, she could not, even for Gwyneth’s sake, 
make up her mind to launch into any expenditure that was 
not paid out for her own special benefit; and even in this 
palace of luxury, with wealth scattered around her in every 
shape, Gwyneth Vivian found herself pinched and cramped 
for money. 

All of which only served to deepen the resolve with 
which she had come to London — to marry as soon as pos- 
sible, and to marry a rich man who would be able and 
willing to indulge her in all the favorite desires of her 


178 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


heart; and while she was dressing that evening, it was to 
Rosse Vavasor that her thoughts turned, as the possible 
realization of the ideal of her dreams. 

Mr. Rosse Vavasor was a banker, well past the middle 
age, and he had been evidently smitten by Miss Vivian’s 
charms, from their very first introduction. As far as she 
was personally concerned, Gwyneth would have prefered a 
younger suitor, and one of more decided rank and higher 
lineage, but then aristocratic birds were shy of the snares at 
No. — Delavan Place, and Mr. Vavasor’s wealth formed 
an additional inducement to Gwyneth to forego some of 
her girlish dreams. 

‘‘ Yes,” she answered to herself, as she clasped around 
her neck a glistening cordon of emeralds, lent for the even- 
ing by her sister, and tried the effect, in her hair, of a dia- 
mond butterfly, perched on leaves of sparkling emerald, 
“ I will marry Vavasor! He can give me what I most 
covet in all the world — wealth and position of my own. ” 

As these thoughts passed through her mind, Mrs. Os- 
wald Carruthers rustled into the room, dressed in pale lilac 
silk, with the deep glow of amethysts fastening a point 
lace scarf at her throat, and amethysts hanging like pend- 
ants of violet fire from her small, well-shaped ears, while a 
Venetian tunic of the richest point lace was looped almost 
to her waist, with tiny clusters of artificial wild violets, so 
perfectly imitated from nature, that one almost expected 
to see them droop and wilt in the heat of the apartment. 

“ Are you nearly ready, Gwynr” said she, critically sur- 
veying her sister. You look very nice, but I think Flor- 
ine can improve those braids.” 

“ Have we time?” said Gwyneth, glancing at her watch. 

“ 1 can do them in one minute, mademoiselle,” said 
Florine Dufour, with alacrity, and in a second she had 
shaken Miss Vivian’s rich brown hair out of its fastenings, 
and began to weave it into a newer and more becoming 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 179 

garniture. There! is not that more according to made- 
moiselle's style 

Gwyneth viewed her reflection in the mirror with a com- 
placent smile. 

I declare, Florine,^^ said she, “ you do understand 
hair-dressing 

And taking up the diamond butterfly, she was about to 
pin it into her hair, when Florine made a deprecating 
gesture. 

“ Not there, mademoiselle,^^ said she; “not there! It 
would spoil all! Just let me place it under those braids, 
as if the little sparkling insect was just springing out into 
the sunshine. There !^^ 

Gwyneth recognized the improvement at once. 

“ Florine, said she, “ you are a born artist. Now, 
my scarf and gloves, and yonder white satin fan. I am 
ready, Gertrude.’^ 

Oswald was waiting for them, impatiently enough, in the 
drawing-room down-stairs, and presently the carriage was 
rolling along the brilliantly lighted streets. 

“ Well, Gwyn,’^ said Gertrude, laughing, as she leaned 
back among the silken cushions, and contemplated the 
glitter of a diamond-studded bracelet on her wrist. “ I 
hope you will make the most of your advantages to- 
night. ” 

“ DonT I always make the most of my advantages?’^ 
asked Gwyneth, indifferently. 

“ Mrs. Del Vecchio tells me that this soiree musicale at 
Vavasor’s house is got up especially in your honor.” 

“ Is it?” 

The deep flush rose into Gwyneth’s cheeks; her eyes in- 
voluntarily brightened. 

“ She thinks there is no sort of doubt that he intends to 
propose,” added Mrs. Carruthers. “And now, Gwyn, 
play your cards well, for 1 do believe your destiny is in 
your own hands.” 


180 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


‘‘You need not fear me/* answered Gwyneth, somewhat 
contemptuously, while Oswald sat looking out of the win- 
dow with eyes full of silent scorn, and his upper lip slight- 
ly curved. To his frank and open nature, all this ma- 
neuvering and scheming for a matrimonial prize seemed 
indescribably mean and paltry, and the gulf between him- 
self and his wife seemed gradually widening day by day, as 
he grew more completely to comprehend her nature. 

The Vavasor mansion was all ablaze with light, and the 
streets well-nigh blocked up with carriages when the Car- 
ruthers^s equipage drew up in front of the carpeted carriage 
step, from which a Venetian awning led to the house door. 
Rosse Vavasor was rich, and liked to live according to his 
means, and even Mrs. Carruthers, accustomed of late to 
all the various manifestations of wealth, stood amazed at 
the splendor of the banker^s home. The carved arches of 
the door-ways were garlanded with the costliest hot-house 
plants, whose mission, apparently, was to bloom but for 
an hour, to minister to the rich man’s pleasure — the vast 
rooms opened one from another, a succession of superb 
apartments, where statues, flowers, and pictures dazzled 
the eye, and the crowd of assembled guests were ranged in 
a sort of circular amphitheater before an improvised stage 
concealed by rose satin curtains, fringed with gold, and 
surrounded by the glitter of foot-lights shining through 
globes of rose-colored glass. 

Miss Regina Vavasor hurried to meet them as the foot- 
man telegraphed their names noiselessly to her. 

“ Oh, I am so glad you have come, Gerty and Gwyneth!” 
said she, gushingly. “ It’s past the hour, but Rosse would 
not allow the music to begin until you arrived! Rosse, 
here they are!” 

There was a general stir and whisper through the as- 
semblage as Mr. Vavasor, a handsome, well-preserved man 
of some two- or three-and- fifty years of age, made his way 
through the crowd, courteously greeted the newly arrived 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


181 


guests, and offering his arm to Miss Vivian, led her to a 
seat directly in front of the foot-lights — a seat which had 
been especially reserved from the very first. It was a mo- 
ment of secret exultation to Gwyneth, as she sunk grace- 
fully into the low, satin-puffed chair, and glanced at the 
programme, printed in gold letters on a tiny sheet of rose- 
colored satin. To feel that she was especially singled out, 
among all this assemblage of lovely girls and superbly 
dressed matrons — to know that the envying glance of a 
hundred eyes was on her, and to be conscious that all this 
magnificence might be hers if she chose — it was a sensation 
as new as it was delighful to Gwyneth Vivian. 

At the same moment a tiny bell struck — the rose-colored 
curtain ascended, revealing a miniature parlor stage, with 
a background of lemon and myrtle-trees, starred with 
golden balls of fruit and clusters of wax-white flowers — 
and Mme. Bertiglia, prima-donna of the Italian Opera, 
glided forward in the Druidical dress of Norma, and be- 
gan to sing. 

Gwyneth forgot scenery, surroundings, and all, as the 
silvery notes trilled forth, and clasped her hands in a sort 
of mute, rapturous ecstasy. She was a born enthusiast in 
music — a secret worshiper of the Divine Art — and the tide 
of melody seemed to bear her soul off into unknown worlds 
upon its sweet, resistless rush. 

Oh!^^ she cried, as the Bertiglia courtesied a smiling 
recognition of the plaudits of her audience, and the falling 
curtain hid lemon thickets, artificial ceiling of stars, and 
Druid priestess, all at once, “ how delicious!^’ 

“ Do you like it?’’ Eosse Vavasor looked gratified. “ I 
heard that you were fond of music, and I devised this lit- 
tle surprise for you.” • 

As he turned to answer the questions of Mrs. Carruthers 
on his left hand, Gwyneth’s other neighbor, one Lady 
Justinia Brooke, chimed softly in: 

“ Delightful singing, isn’t it? But it ought to be. The 


182 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Bertiglia never opens her mouth in a private house short 
of a guinea a note. That makes her very select. Every- 
body canT afford to scatter gold to the right and left, like 
our charming host!^^ 

“ No, to be sure not,^^ said Miss Vivian, absently play- 
ing with her fan. 

“ But after all,’^ resumed Lady Justinia, “ the Bertiglia 
is only a star of secondary magnitude here to-night. Wait 
until you hear Signor Montini sing.'^ 

“ Montini?'^ Gwyneth Vivian looked up in some sur- 
prise. “ Is he to be here to-night?’^ 

“ DoiiT you see his name on the programme for the last 
aria 9 Have you never heard him?'^ 

“ No; but 1 have read of his triumphs on the stage,^^ 
said Gwyneth, eagerly. “ I shall be delighted with the 
chance to hear him.^' 

“ He’s charming,” said Lady Justinia, paying no atten- 
tion whatsoever to the long-haired and spectacled young 
man on the stage, who was executing a sonata of Bee- 
thoven in a frenzied and piano-destructive manner. “ So 
handsome and stylish, and so deliciously mysterious as to 
his antecedents, rumor declares that he is the disinherited 
son of an Italian prince, and Mr. Vavasor tells me that he 
absolutely declined to sing off the stage at any price, until 
he learned that it was to please a young lady. Can you 
imagine who that young lady can be. Miss Vivian?” a lit- 
tle archly. 

Gwyneth smiled and colored. 

“ Signor Montini is very chivalric,”. said she. 

“ At the rate of a hundred guineas a song,” said Lady 
Justinia, with a shrug of her shoulders. “ We are to have 
the serenade from ‘ Mary Stuart. ’ ” 

And presently Signor Gaspard Montini appeared on the 
stage in black velvet and a drooping white plume — a dark, 
brilliant-faced man, of more than the usual height, and 
with jet-black hair, and a long silken mustache. He was 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


183 


received with tumultuous clappings by the audience, and 
warbled through his part with a good deal of aristocratic 
languor. 

At the end of the serenade, a miniature rain of bouquets 
fell on the tiny stage at his feet. He deliberately stooped, 
and selecting from them all the little bunch of violets and 
sweet verbena leaves that had been thrown by Miss Vivian, 
fastened it on his breast, with a bow, and a glance of the 
melancholy dark eyes full at the honored guest of the 
evening. 

The curtain fell, the guests all adjourned to the supper- 
room, beyond which a stately picture-gallery, with domed 
ceiling and waxed floor, had been prepared for dancing, 
with the “ Dying Gladiator at one end, and a matchless 
group of “ Niobe and her Children at the other. 

As Gwyneth was sipping a tutti frutti of colored ice, 
and listening to Lady J ustinia^s lively chatter, she heard 
her host’s low voice close to her. 

“ Miss Vivian, will you allow me the pleasure of pre- 
senting to your notice Signor Montini?” 

And, gliding to Mrs. Oarruthers’s side, he whispered: 

“ Rather cool of the fellow to insist upon an introduc- 
tion to one of my guests, but these operatic stars are so 
spoiled and imperious that one can refuse them nothing. 
And Montini actually thinks he has done me a favor by 
accepting my check for a hundred guineas for that song 
to-night!” 

“Ah, Mr. Vavasor, Genius recognizes no rank!” said 
Gerty, not knowing what else to remark. 

And the soiree musicale merged itself into waltzes and 
quadrilles. 

Florine Dufour was waiting up for her mistress when 
Mrs. OaiTuthers returned home at three o’clock in the 
morning. She had contrived to spend her evening profit- 
ably enough In arranging her lady’s wardrobe, learning 


184 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


the various arts of her toilet-table, and mending some fine 
lace which had got slightly torn on the clasp of a bracelet. 

She looked brightly up as Mrs. Carruthers entered. 

“ Madame, perhaps, is not aware,^^ said she, “ that she 
left a bunch of keys on a ring in the lower draw'er of the 
chiffonier?’^ holding them up. 

“ Put them away somewhere,” sfiid Gertrude, with a 
yawn. “ They are some old keys that belonged to White 
Oaks, and were brought here by mistake.” 

“ Certainly, madame.” 

But Florine Dufour did not think it especially necessary 
to mention that she had beguiled her solitude by experi- 
menting with this same bunch of keys, and that she had 
discovered that one of them fitted the enamel Chinese cab- 
inet in which Mrs. Carruthers kept her jewels. 

“ Useful knowledge never comes amiss,” thought she, 
with a comical curve of her dimpled lips, as she assisted 
Mrs. Carruthers to remove the evening dress and orna- 
ments that she had worn. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

NO. 16 HALTDOME VILLAS. 

Oswald Carruthers had breakfasted and gone out 
full an hour before Gwyneth and Gertrude came languidly 
down to the morning meal one morning a few days subse- 
quent to the soiree musicale, 

“ One would think my husband was out in the back- 
woods of Oregon State, by the unaccountable hours he 
keeps!” complained Gerty, flinging herself into a chair. 
“ The letters, Morris!” 

And Morris, the second footman, obediently brought a 
silver tray, piled up with notes and cards. Hastily sorting 
them over, Mrs. Carruthers flung half a dozen across to 
her sister, following them with curious eyes. 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


185 


“ What is that letter directed in the sprawling hack 
liand writing?^ ^ she asked, inquisitively. 

“ 1^11 tell you, when I find out myself, said Gwyneth, 
breaking the seal — a splash of silver-green wax, stamped 
with an almost illegible coat of arms that looked like a 
mountain crested with a crown. “Ah!^^ with a smile, 
“ tickets to ‘ Don Giovanni ’ to-night!’’ 

“ The opera?” 

“ Yes, the opera. Compliments of Signor Gaspard 
Montini! Isn’t it polite of him?” 

“ Very!” said Gertrude. ‘‘ And — just a little presum- 

ing, isn’t it?” with a curl of the lip. 

“ I don’t know why you use that word,” said Gwyneth, 
firing up. “ There are plenty of girls in London who 
would give their eyes and ears to receive such a compli- 
ment from Signor Montini as this!” 

“ Not with your prospects,” observed Mrs. Carruthers, 
meaningly. 

” By prospects, you mean — ” 

“ By prospects, I mean Mr. Vavasor!” nodded Gerty. 
“ My dear “Gwyn, don’t you know that it won’t do to en- 
courage anything like jealousy?” 

“ Mr. Vavasor has no right or title to be jealous yet!” 
remarked Gwyneth, haughtily. 

Now, Gwyn, don’t be a fool! His attentions are suffi- 
ciently marked to admit of no misconstruction.” 

“For all that,” said Gwyneth, defiantly, “I mean to 
go to the opera to-night. ” 

“ Then I shall go with you!” uttered Mrs. Carruthers, 
the angry light in her eyes. 

“I’ve no sort of objection to that,” said Gwyneth, 
laughing. “ As yet. Signor Montini and 1 have no secret 
understanding which you can disturb!” 

“ As yet?” Gwyneth Vivian spoke the words as lightly 
as if their echoes were not doomed to ring all down the 


18C 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


corridors of her coming life. Alas! in this world how 
little we know what is in store for us! 

“Another letter from papa!” sighed Gerty, almost in 
despair. “ Oh, dear, I have come to dread the very sight 
of his handwriting!” 

“ What does he want now?” said Gwyneth, angrily, 
crumpling up her own notes in her hand. 

“ Money — more money, of course,” answered Gertrude; 
“ and this time the demand is accompanied by a covert 
threat, in case we do not see fit to comply with these ex- 
orbitant terms of his. Gwyn, 1 begin to believe that Os- 
wald’s plan of a regular stated allowance, on condition of 
Captain Vivian leaving the country, is best, after all. I 
regarded it as too expensive, but this sort of thing,” with 
a distasteful glance at the letter, “ will ruin us, if it goes 
on! If he should carry out his threat, and presen t-himself 
here, just now, while this Vavasor question is on the car- 
pet—” 

“ It would ruin all,” said Gwyneth, with a slight shud- 
der. 

“If it wasn’t for that,” said Gertrude, boldly, “ I 
should be tempted to write back to him to come on and do 
his worst. If he wants to tighten a rope around his own 
neck, I am sure 1 haven’t the least objection!” 

“ Oh, Gerty, don’t talk so!” 

“ Oh, Gwyn, why not?” with an audacious mimicking 
of her sister’s startled tones. “ It will end in that one of 
these days, you see if it doesn!t. Well,” with a sigh, “ I 
shall send him the money this time, but he’s coming to the 
end of his nice little game, that I can tell him! Oh, here 
comes Oswald! Did you remember to order those fiowers 
for my kettle-drum to-morrow, Oswald?” 

“ The fiowers are ordered,” said Oswald. “ Gertrude, 
1 have just received bad news from White Oaks.” 

“ Bad news!” repeated Mrs. Carruthers, looking up 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


187 


with wonderiug eyes into her husband^s pale, stern face. 

What bad news?” 

“ Sidney and Christabel are gone!” 

“ Gone!” echoed Gerty, and Oswald detected at once, in 
the tones of her voice, the genuine surprise of her look and 
manner, that his suspicion of her being privy to this sud- 
den disappearance was entirely groundless. “ Gone 
whither?” 

“ That is what no one can imagine,” Oswald answered. 
“ My God, Gertrude, if 1 supposed that any word or action 
of yours had given cause for this unaccountable con- 
duct — ” 

“ Oswald,” cried out his wife, ‘‘I am as ignorant as 
yourself of why or wherefore they went. ” 

And Mr. Carruthers was compelled for once to believe 
her. 

‘‘lam going down to Fane’s Bridge by the noon train,” 
said he, “ to see<if I can trace any reason for their sudden 
departure, or a clew to their place of retreat!” 

Gertrude tossed her head contemptuously. 

“ As you please, of course,” said she. “ But if these 
two eccentric young people cared to be followed around the 
country, they would probably have left their address. For 
my part, I think they have adopted the wisest and most 
sensible plan that could be desired.” 

To this Oswald Carruthers made no reply, but turned 
quietly away. 

That evening Miss Vivian occupied the proscenium box 
at the Italian opera, to which Signor Montini had sent her 
tickets. The play was “ Don Giovanni,” the primo tenore 
in grand voice, the thunders of applause absolutely un- 
limited. Gwyneth was excitable in her nature, and pas- 
sionately susceptible to the influence of music, and while 
Gertrude was laughing and whispering with some friends 
who had sought her out, and established themselves in the 
back of the box, her sister sat pale and silent with clasped 


188 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


hands and eyes glittering with magnetic fire, following the 
romantic current of Mozart's marvelous opera, while the 
great dark melancholy eyes of the handsome tenore seemed 
absolutely to burn themselves into her heart. Once again 
she threw a branch of myrtle blossoms on the stage, just 
before the falling of the curtain; a mere floral di^p in the 
shower of larger and costlier bouquets — once again Gas- 
pard Montini, picking the snowy spray from the green 
baize floor, placed it, with a bow, next his heart, and 
Gwyneth Vivian went home to dream of “ Don Giovanni," 
and the electric eyes of Signor Montini. 

The next day Signor Montini met them in Hyde Park, 
two days subsequently he sauntered into a flower show 
where Mrs. Carruthers and her sister were pretending to 
be interested in ferns, rare rosea, and orchid aceae. After 
this he haunted Miss Vivian's footsteps like a shadow. 

“ Gwyn," insisted Mrs. Carruthers, “you should not 
allow that man to follow you around so persistently!" 

“ Why not?" said Gwyneth, defiantly. 

“ It's perfectly ridiculous of him," said Mrs. Carruthers. 
“ And only yesterday he was here but fifteen minutes after 
Mr. Vavasor's carriage had rolled away." 

“ What then?" 

“ What then?" echoed Gertrude, beginning to lose her 
temper. “ Suppose he had been fifteen minutes earlier? 
Suppose he had met Mr. Vavasor in my drawing-room?" 

“ I suppose he has as good a right here as Mr. Vavasor," 
retorted Gwyneth, spurred on by a mingled spirit of oppo- 
sition and coquetry 

“ I don't suppose anything of the sort, then," said Mrs. 
Carruthers, and she jerked the bell-wire. A servant ap- 
peared. 

“ Morris." 

“ Madame?" 

“ If Signor Montini calls here again, you will remember 
that we are not at home." 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


189 


“Yes, maclame.^’ 

Gwyneth darted a vindictive glance at her sister as the 
door closed behind the footman’s vanishing form. 

“ Gerty,” said she, “ I shall not forget this act of gra- 
cious kindness at your hands!” 

“ It’s greater kindness than you think, my dear,” re- 
torted Gertrude, with supreme indifference. 

Meanwhile Oswald Oarruthers, foiled in the object of his 
Journey to White Oaks, had returned, dispirited and sad, 
to London. To him the whirl of successive entertain- 
ments, gay society, and brilliant social successes possessed 
neither charm nor interest. He went out with Gertrude 
and Gwyneth simply because it was easier to accede to 
their wishes than to dispute them; but it was evidently no 
enjoyment to him. 

“I wish,” cried Gerty, petulantly, “you could go 
around looking a little less like a death’s-head and bones, 
Oswald!” 

He smiled a little at the sally. “ 1 look as I feel, 1 sup- 
pose,” said he. “I have not that command over my 
countenance that some facile natures possess.” 

But one day, lounging idly along one of the brilliant 
thoroughfares of London — Oswald Oarruthers retained 
that one characteristic of his wild western days, that he 
never could be persuaded to drive in a close carriage where 
there was an alternative of either riding on horseback or 
walking — he chanced to stop in front of the glittering win- 
dows of a “ Magazine of Art,” as it was ostentatiously 
called, and there, while staring mechanically before him, 
he happened to observe a little bracket of black walnut, the 
center-piece of which was a carved stag’s head — an ob- 
ject strangely familiar to him. 

“ If Sid Oarruthers were here in London,” he exclaimed, 
half aloud, to the infinite surprise of a natty young col- 
legian, who was scrutinizing a “ Madonna del Sisto ” be- 
yond, “ I should say that it was his work! I’ve seen him 


190 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


carve just such heads, when he was lying on his sofa in 
the big oriel window of his room at White Oaks!^^ And 
then, with a sudden inspiration breaking in upon his 
brain: “ Sid Carruthers is in London! And Christabel is 
with him!^^ 

Walking into the “ Magazine of Art,^' he interrupted a 
colloquy between the dapper shopman and an old gentle- 
man who was anxious to secure an antique engraving at a 
bargain, demanding unceremoniously, over the bald head 
of the latter, the price of the walnut bracket in the win- 
dow.^’' 

“ Twelve and sixpence, sir,’' said the shopman. “ A 
remarkably fine specimen of carving, sir; done by hand, 
entirely.” 

‘‘I’ll take it,” said Oswald, while the old gentleman 
glared indignantly around at him. “ What is the address 
of the young gentleman who carved it?” added he, as he 
flung a pound-note on the counter. 

The shopman looked greedily up from the till wherein 
he was groping for change. Only that morning he had in- 
differently told poor Sidney Carruthers that his work was 
quite unsalable, and that he, the proprietor of the “ Maga- 
zine of Art,” did not care to receive any more contribu- 
tions from his knife and pencil. But now he scented profit 
ahead, and things assumed quite a different aspect in his 
spectacled eyes. 

“ 1 shall be happy to receive any orders from you, sir, 
for work from the same hand,” said he, alertly. 

“ I wish to give no orders,” brusquely retorted Oswald. 
“ I want Mr. Carruthers’s address. Will you be so good 
as to give it to me, without loss of time?” 

The man reluctantly turned to his books, and after a 
minute or two’s search, read out: 

“ Carruthers, Sidney. No. i 6 Halidome Villas. Thank 
you, sir— shall be glad of your future custom.” 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


101 


And Oswald strode out of the shop, with a heart as light 
as a feather within his breast. 

!No. 16 Ilalidome Villas did not in any respect corre- 
spond with the loftiness of its appellation. Halid ome 
Villas proved, after much cab-hire and many inquiries at 
street corners, to be a row of cheap, stucco-fronted houses, 
put up in one of those suburban wildernesses of London 
wliich always remind the thoughtful observer of the 
‘‘ Potter^s Field mentioned so drearily in Scripture. 
Opposite was a deep excavation where some enterprising 
spirit had conceived an opposition row, and never got 
further than the cellars — to the left a large factory reared 
its chimney-stacks, and beyond workmen were busy cut- 
ting down the trees in an old-fashioned brick- walled gar- 
den which had held its own against the noisy approach of 
civilization until now, but had apparently succumbed in 
despair at the eleventh hour. Wherever a vacant nook 
appeared, the inhabitants of Halidome Villas and their 
vicinity had taken prompt advantage of it for the deposit 
of ash-heaps, broken crockery, rusted tin cans, and other 
garbage, and out of the sixteen stiff little evergreen bushes 
planted in the sixteen door-yards of Halidome Villas, nine 
were dead and the other seven presented ominous signs of 
yellowing decay. “ Eooms to Let and “ Lodgings 
obtruded themselves from most of the windows — a millinery 
sign crowded a dentist^s plate, and one despairing tenant 
had filled his little bay-window with glass jars of taffy, 
clay pipes arranged lattice-wise, and attractive ribbons and 
laces. 

And Oswald Carruthers^’s heart sunk within him, . 
as he looked around at the general aspect of dreariness and 
poverty, and thought of Christabel and Sidney dwelling in 
such an atmosphere as this! 

No. 16 was the last of the stucco-fronted abominations, 
and a woman was standing in the door- way, with her dress- 
skirt pinned up around her, and one hand shading her eyes 


192 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


from the sun, as she cheapened the wares of an itinerant 
fish-vender. 

“ A shilling!^^ she cried, in shrill accent. A shilling 
for a white fish of that size! Well, you^’d better move on. 
We sha^nH come to terms! A shilling! Yes, sir,^’ with 
a courtesy to the tall gentleman who had contrived to 
squeeze himself between the area railing and the fish- 
wagon, “ Master Carruthers is at home. Second floor 
front, sir, if you^ll just please to step up! 1^11 give you 
niiiepence,^^ and once more returning to the business in 
hand, “ and not a penny more.^^ 

Meanwhile Mr. Carruthers, nearly blinded from the 
sudden transit from the western sunbeams outside into a 
hall that seemed to be totally unlighted, was groping his 
way up a flight of stairs where the rods were loose, and the 
ragged carpet offered a succession of pitfalls to the unwary 
traveler. 

Safely arrived at the top, he knocked at the first door he 
came to. No answer. Making his way to the second, he 
knocked once more, and from within a well-known voice, 
that of Sidney Carruthers, called out: 

‘‘Come in.^^ 

A small room with yawning cracks in the ceiling and 
walls, a smoldering grate fire, and a cheap carpet, whose 
pattern seemed to start out at you in staring red sunflowers 
on a green ground, and at the further end of it, Sidney 
Carruthers, half lying, half sitting on a sofa, a table beside 
him strewn with thin sheets of black walnut, and his fin- 
gers busy in tracing a pattern. 

At the first glance Oswald could see that he had grown 
pale and thin, and that his eyes seemed more dispropor- 
tionate than ever to the size of his face. 

As the door opened, the boy dropped his pencil. 

“ Halloo!’^ he exclaimed. “ Why, If it isn’t the Wild 
Man of the Woods!” 

Oswald grasped both the thin hands in his. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


193 


“ Sid!^^ was all that he said, but his eyes were full of 
unuttered eloquence. “ Oh, Sid! But where is Christa- 
hel?” 

“ Gone out to get one of my saws mended. She^ll be 
back directly. But 1 say, Oswald,^^ drawing him to a seat 
on the sofa beside him, “ how did you find us out?^^ 

“ Instinct, I suppose,^’ said Oswald, looking around the 
shabby room with a sharp pain at his heart. 

“ No, but really,^^ resting his head on his cousin’s 
shoulder with a sensation of rest that he had not experi- 
enced for weeks. Oswald drew the little stag’s head 
bracket from his coat-pocket. 

Look!” said he. “ The instant I saw that in the shop 
window I knew your carving.” 

“ You’re a regular wild Indian of a fellow for scenting 
out a trail, Oswald,” said Sidney, half laughing, though 
the tears were in his eyes. “Hush! there she comes 
now!” 

The door opened at the same instant, and Christabel 
Fane came in, with glowing cheeks, and dark-brown hair 
blown about by the spring wind. She stopped short on 
the threshold, very pale for a second, then crimsoning to 
the roofs of her hair. 

“ Oswald!” 

“ Yes, Oswald!” cried Sidney. “ He’s found us out, 
as 1 always told you he would.” 

Miss Fane had recovered her balance almost instantly, 
and came forward with outstretched hand. 

“ Oswald,” said she, “ I can not say that 1 am not glad 
to see you.” 

“ I should hope not!” interposed the boy, with a laugh 
that had something hysterical in it. 

“But,” added Christabql, “ I did hope that you would 
not discover our poor little haven of refuge!” 

Oswald looked reproachfully into her eyes. 

7 


194 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Christabel/^ said he, abruptly, “why did you go 
away from White Oaks?’^ 

“ Because I knew the parting must come sooner or late, 
Oswald, she replied, with grave gentleness. “ If a thing 
must be done, 1 am not one to procrastinate itl’^ 

“ Why must it come?’’ he demanded. 

“ It was inevitable, Oswald,” she answered. “ For your 
sake — for all our sakes!” 

“ And what are you doing here?” 

“ Earning our own living.” 

“ And a tight squeeze it is,” interpolated Sidney, in an 
under-tone. 

“Earning your own living — but how?” persisted Os- 
wald. 

“ Sidney sells his wood carvings,” she did not add for 
how pitiful and precarious a sum, “ and I draw screens 
and paint them in water colors, and do fine sewing and 
embroidery when I can get it!” 

“ And she writes for the papers, too, Oswald,” triumph- 
antly added Sidney. “ Tell him about the story that the 
‘ Weekly Star Beam ’ accepted, Chris, and paid you three 
pounds for! They did as sure as she stands there ! What 
do you think of that, Oswald?” 

“ Can you make enough to get along?” he questioned. 

“Yes— after a fashion!” said Christabel. “We have 
to do without luxuries and cut down our list of necessities, 
but,” with a sparkle of the deep-brown eyes, “ we are in- 
dependent. ” 

Oswald rose from the sofa and began to walk up and 
down the floor. 

“ Christabel,” said he, “ this is no life for either you or 
Sidney. Come back to us once more.” 

She shook her head. 

“ You mean it kindly, Oswald, I know, but believe me, 
it is impossible.” 

He bit his lip. 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


195 


“ Has my wife, then, made herself so intolerably obnox- 
ious to you?’^ 

“ It is not altogether that, Oswald, but — ” 

“ You will not return to the shelter of my roof?’' 

“No!” 

“ Christabel, 1 ought to be angry with you,” he cried, 
vehemently, “ but I can not.” 

“ Because I am in the right, Oswald, and you know it 
as well as I do. ” 

“ I know nothing of the sort! But, Christabel, you will 
at least let me make you an allowance.” 

She shook her head. 

“ Why should 1? What claim have 1 or Sidney upon 
you?” 

“ You have every claim.” 

“1 deny it,” said she, quietly but firmly. “No, Os- 
wald, 1 will accept nothing at your hands, nothing at 
least,” as she saw the pain in his face, “ but, your good 
wishes. ” 

Sidney clapped his hands. 

“ Bravo, Chris!” said he. “ You’re a trump. We’ve 
made up our minds, Oswald, and we’ll stick to it. ” 

“ For his sake, Christabel,” said Oswald Carruthers, 
with his hand on the boy’s slender shoulder. 

“ 1 have considered all this well,” answered the girl, 
quietly. “ For his sake I refuse. His mother left him, a 
sacred charge, to my care, and I will abandoii the charge 
to no one, not even you.” 

So Oswald went away, vexed, baffled, and chagrined. 
For once a girl’s resolve had been proof against his iron 
will, and he had been unable to bend her determination. 

“ Nevertheless,” he said, as he stood on the threshold, 
“ I shall come to see you?” 

“ You will be welcome,” said Christabel, gently. 

“More than welcome,” said Sidney, heartily. “For 
it’s jolly stupid here, sometimes, ain’t it, Chris?” 


19C 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Mr. Carruthers told his wife that evening of the discov- 
ery he had made. Gertrude shrugged her shoulders. 

“ They’ve turned up at last, have they?” said she, 
superciliously. I thought it wouldn’t be long first! And 
when are they coming back here?” 

Not at all,” said Oswald, doing his best to repress the 
stormy tide of anger that rose within him at the cross tone 
of Gerty’s hard voice, I could not induce them to return 
to my household, although I used every argument.” 

“Of course you did,” said Gerty. “And may I ask 
how much of your income is to be diverted in that direc- 
tion? Being only your wife, I have no right to ask, I am 
well aware, but — ” 

“ Whether you have a right to ask or not, 1 am willing 
to answer,” replied Oswald, coldly. “ Christabel and Sid- 
ney — your brother, Gerty, remember — absolutely decline 
to receive any allowance at my hands!” 

“Really!” Mrs. Carruthers was somewhat incredulous. 
“ And do you expect me to cultivate these romantic run- 
aways?” 

“ 1 thought that perhaps you might see the propriety of 
going to them. ” 

“ I don’t then,” said Mrs. Carruthers, tartly. “ They 
have shown plainly enough that they don’t want my so- 
ciety, and I do not see why I should run after them!” 

“ Gertrude!” Oswald Carruthers spoke through his 
teeth, “ have you any natural feeling in your heart?” 

“ You have enough for both of us,” saucily retorted the 
wife; “ I don’t like Sid, and I never did. And I hate 
Christabel Fane, with her airs, and graces, and pale, 
haughty face! There! Now you have my opinion on the 
subject. And if you have one particle of natural feeling 
toward me, you would not insult me by running after this 
girl and her crippled hanger-on!” 

“ We differ on this, as on other subjects,” returned Os- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 197 

wald, coldly, walking out of the room as his wife began to 
show hysterical symptoms. 


CHAPTER XX. 

FLORINE MAKES HER CHOICE. 

“ Gwyneth, what are you going to wear at the flower 
show to-night?’’ 

Mrs. Carruthers stood before the fire, one slippered foot 
on the fender, and a fashion magazine in her hand. 
Gwyneth sat opposite, in a low easy-chair with hands 
clasped at the back of her head, her eyes fixed on the win- 
dow beyond. 

‘•I don’t know,” said she, starting out of a reverie. 

My garnet silk, with the black lace flounce, I suppose.” 

“ Why don’t you wear the tilleul green?” suggested her 
sister. Mr. Vavasor likes you in green. He says you 
make him think of a lily rising out of its leaves.” 

“ Sentimental old fool,” snapped Gwyneth. “ What 
business has he to be talking shilling-yard nonsense?” 

“ All men are fools,” said philosophical Gertrude. 

But when it^s the choice between a rich fool and a poor 
fool—” 

Who is talking about a poor fool?” impatiently broke 
in Gwyneth. 

‘‘lam talking about Gaspard Montini, Gwyn! Didn’t 
he send you cards for the opera to-night, of all nights, the 
wretch, when Vavasor has especially asked you to go to the 
flower show!” 

“ It don’t follow that I am going to accept Signor Mon- 
tini’s kind attentions,” said Gwyneth, with a yawn. “I 
suppose 1 must go to the flower show, though I don’t care 
a copper for all the flowers between here and Kamtchatka!” 

“But Mr. Vavasor — ” 

“Mr. Vavasor! Mr. Vavasor!” angrily cried out Miss 
Vivian. “ Now look here, Gerty, I’m tired of this sus- 


198 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


pense. If Mr. Vavasor wants me he had better propose at 
once — if not, I would like to know it. Does he suppose I 
am to stand here courtesying and smiling like a Circassian 
slave in the market, until he gets ready to signify his sov- 
ereign will and pleasure?’^ 

“ Gwyn,^^ said the astonished elder sister, “ 1 think you 
are crazy. 

“ I shall be if this sort of thing goes on much longer, 
said Gwyneth, springing out of her chair and beginning to 
pace up and down the room. 

In truth and in fact, Gwyneth Vivian was in a sore 
strait. She had fully made up her mind to accept the rich 
banker. She knew that all her life and training, mental 
and physical, tended toward a culmination like this. From 
her childhood upward she had fixed her standard thus: To 
marry rich — to revel in luxury and float on the topmost 
tide of extravagance and fashion. But now, strange to 
say, even when the tide was at her very feet, she hesitated 
before flinging herself into its coveted vortex. Hesitated 
— and why? 

“ I donT love this Italian, Gwyneth asserted to herself 
over and over again. “ I know I do not love him, and yet 
— and yet — his voice and step and great sad eyes follow me 
everywhere, sleeping and waking, do what I will to fly the 
association. If these were the rare old days of witch- 
craft,^^ with a troubled smile breaking out upon her lips, 
“ I should believe he had cast a spell over my soul and 
heart. I donT love him; on the contrary, I think I am a 
little afraid of him, and yet — 

And Gwyneth Vivian sat down and wrote a hurried note 
to Signor Gaspard Montini: 

“ I will come. G. V.’^ 

As she was folding it Mrs. Carruthers came into the 
room so abruptly that Gwyneth had barely time to secrete 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 199 

tlie polite billet under a file of new music-recommended 
by the signor, by that same Signor Gaspard Montini. 

“ IVe no patience left,^^ said Gertrude, angrily, flounc- 
ing into a chair. 

“Your stock of that article is at no time very exten- 
sive,^’ said Gwyneth, satirically. “ But what is the trouble 
just at present?” 

“ I was down in Beckford’s room just now to consult 
with her about my lunch-party on Thursday,” said Ger- 
trude, excitedly, “ and there sat that big policeman, Bryan 
his name is, flirting with my little Florine. It is not the 
first time it has happened, nor the second, and I have 
given Florine to understand that 1 would on no account 
allow followers. 1 told him plainly that there must be an 
end to this, or 1 would report him at head-quarters.” 

“ I don’t think you can do that,” said Gwyneth. 
“ The man’s time is his own out of hours.” 

“ That’s what he told me, with all the coolness imagin- 
able,” said Mrs. Oarruthers, “ and I retorted that in that 
case I wanted him to spend his time somewhere else than 
in my servants’ society. He looked as if he could eat me, 
and Florine made some pert remark — it seems that she is 
the attraction — and I discharged her on the spot.” 

“ Discharged Florine!” 

“Yes! Do you suppose I am going to put up with 
' being answered back by any servant in my establishment?” 

Gwyneth rose up hurriedly. 

“ Gerty,” said she, “I like Florine Dufour. She suits 
me. Don’t discharge her. ” 

“ 1 have already done so,” said Mrs. Oarruthers, 
doggedly. 

“ Then I shall re-engage her for myself.” 

“ Gwyneth!” exclaimed Gertrude, half in anger, half in 
surprise. 

“I tell you,” resumed Gwyneth, speaking hurriedly, 
and with varying color, “ she suits me. She dresses me as 


200 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


no one else can do; she arranges my hair like a French 
coiffeur. Vavasor is as critical as an artist, and twice as 
exacting in the matter of feminine dress and adornments.^’ 

“ I have not perceived it,” said Gertrude. 

“ You have not studied his character as I have,” went 
on Gwyneth. “ You have always grudged me a maid of 
my own; but things are drawing to a crisis now. If you 
want Rosse Vavasor to propose to me, you must let me re- 
engaged Florine for myself. ” 

Gertrude hesitated. 

“ It will not be for long,” urged Gwyneth, “ and I can 
easily refund you the wages when I have the handling of 
old Vavasor’s money.” 

“ If it is absolutely necessary,” reluctantly acceded Ger- 
trude. “ But you are to let her understand that I won’t 
have a pack of policemen hanging around my servants* 
hall!” 

“ I’ll make it all right,” said Gwyneth, with alacrity, 
and, springing to her feet, she hurried down-stairs in the 
direction of Mrs. Beckford’s room, opening the door just 
in time to hear Derwent Bryan say in accents of ill-smoth- 
ered anger and resentment: 

“ I’ll be revenged on that woman yet! Mark my words 
— I’ll be even with her for—” 

Florine Dufour, whose eyes were red with crying, uttered 
a slight scream as she saw Gwyneth Vivian looking at her. 

“ Child, what’s the matter.^” said Gwyneth, not un- 
kindly. “ As for you, sir, you had better betake yourself 
to your business, wherever that may be.” 

Derwent Bryan moved stiffly toward the back door, with 
lowering brows, and a sullen defiance shooting out from 
his eyes. 

I m not in the habit of volunteering my company 
when it is not wanted, ma’am,” said he, with a slight bow 
to the young lady, and a warmer salutation toward old 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


201 


Mrs. Beckford, who was in a state of ludicrous annoyance 
and embarrassment. “ I wish you a very good-evening.^^ 

And he was gone. 

“ Now, Florine, what is it?^^ said Gwyneth, not un- 
kindly. 

“ Alas! mademoiselle,^^ sobbed the girl, “ I have lost 
my place. Mr. Bryan has been a good friend to me, and 1 
thought to speak in his behalf to madame, and — 

“ Consider your place found again,^^ said Gwyneth, 
briefly. “ I will engage you as my own maid.^^ 

Florine’s face brightened. 

“ But, madame — 

“Madame will not object, said Gwyneth; “but re- 
member, Florine, Mr. Bryan is not to come here after you 
any more. 

“ I don^t think he will come again, mademoiselle,^^ said 
Florine, coloring. 

“ And, Florine — as Mrs. Beckford left the room. 

“Yes, mademoiselle. ^ ’ 

“ 1 want you to take a note for me,^^ glancing at her 
watch, “ to the Italian Opera House. To Signor Montini. 
I want you to go quickly, and secretly. 

Florine took the extended note, and slipped it into her 
pocket. 

“ Mademoiselle may be sure that I shall fulfill her 
errand, said she, quietly. 

A new and celebrated opera was just being brought out 
for the first time that season. This was the opening night, 
and Gwyneth knew that at that hour Montini would be 
superintending the last rehearsal. 

“ Better so than to send to his hotel, thought she. 

Florine returned in less than an hour. 

“ I could not see the signor, mademoiselle,^^ she said, 
as she began her preparations for Miss Vivian^s dinner 
toilet, “ but I put the note in his letter-box.” 

“That was right/’ said Gwyneth, slowly; “and npw, 


202 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Florine, 1 want to arrange about this evening. I am going 
to the opera. 

“Are you^ mademoiselle?’^ deftly taking the hair-pins 
out of Miss Vivian’s heavy braids. 

“ And 1 am going to take you with me.” 

“ Oh, mademoiselle!” Florine’s face grew radiant. “ I 
never was at an opera.” 

“ Then you will enj^y it,” said Gwyneth, scarcely con- 
scious of what she was saying; “ but, Florine — ” 

“Yes, mademoiselle.” 

“Mr. Vavasor’s carriage is to be here at eight. You 
know Mr. Vavasor’s carriage?” 

Florine nodded, with eyes acutely fixed on her mistress’s 
half -averted face. 

“You are to linger around the door, and be there before 
the porter can answer the bell. You are to tell Mr. Vava- 
sor that a headache has suddenly come on, and that I have 
been obliged to retire for the night — that it will be impos- 
sible for me to accompany him to the flower show.” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle.” 

“ Let a cab be waiting, ready to draw up at the door the 
moment Mr. Vavasor’s carriage has driven away. I will 
come down-stairs, and every one will suppose I have gone 
with Mr. Vavasor to the flower show, and you and I get 
into the cab together, and drive to the opera.” 

“Yes, mademoiselle.” The brilliant, deep-blue eyes 
sparkled entire comprehension and appreciation of the 
whole thing. 

“ And mind, Florine, this must be a profound secret be- 
tween us two,” said Gwyneth, earnestly. “I am taking 
3 ^ou into my confidence.” 

Florine inclined her piquant, gold-braided head. 

“ Mademoiselle shall not regret it,” said she, going 
briskly on with her work. “ All shall be in readiness.” 

At eight precisely Florine tripped up to the drawing- 
room where Gwyneth, Just from the dinner-table, was 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


203 


wrapping a white opera cloak quilted and lined with white 
satin, and bordered with snowy ostrich plumes, around her 
shoulders, and Gertrude was critically altering a spray of 
white jasmine in her hair. 

“Mademoiselle,^^ said she, “ Mr, Vavasor’s carriage!” 

And Gwyneth ran hurriedly down-stairs. 

Gertrude Carruthers drew a long sigh of relief when 
Gwyneth was gone. 

“ Perhaps he will propose to-night,” she told herself. 
“ I do wish the affair was settled, one way or the other! 
I never supposed that Gwyn would turn sentimental, after 
all that has come and gone!” 

Half an hour afterward little Florine Dufour, wrapped 
in a dark serge cloak whose hood lay like a shadow above 
her bright masses of hair, followed Miss Vivian into the 
opera box, and she could hardly restrain an exclamation of 
ecstatic rapture, as the brilliant scene broke on her view — 
the great green stage with its rows of glittering lights, the 
scenery, the wild mass of rocks and forests, with a tinkling 
fall of real water in the foreground, and the glittering 
auditorium with its clustered chandeliers, its gold-outlined 
balconies, and the rustling, sparkling perfumed crowd that 
were packed there like bees in a vast human hive. 

“Oh, mademoiselle!” she cried, clasping her hands, 
while a flutter of joyous excitement thrilled all through 
her frame, “ is it realV’ 

“ Hush!” Gwyneth motioned her to a back seat, as she 
sunk languidly into the velvet sofa in front, and leaned her 
braceleted arms on the edge of the box. The tenor singer 
on the stage, in the midst of a flute-like trill, lifted his 
melancholy eyes to meet hers, in one long lingering glance. 
Involuntarily Gwyneth Vivian went back behind the lace 
draperies of the box. 

“ What am 1 doing?” she asked herself. “ Where is 
all this to end? And yet — and yet it seems to me as if 1 
were in heaven as I sit here and listen to that divine voice!” 


204 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


While Florine Dufour, safely sheltered in the shadow of 
her mistress, sat watching the stage brigand with dilated 
eyes and red lips apart. She heeded not the volume of 
music thundering from violin, cornet, and sweet horn — 
she took no note of the quivering lights — the brilliant audi- 
ence — her gaze was fixed only on Gaspard Montini^s fatally 
handsome face. 

• At the fall of the drop-curtain on the second act of the 
opera. Miss Vivian turned abruptly to her maid. 

Well, Florine, whispered she, “ how do you like it 
all?^^ 

“ Mademoiselle, it is all one man!'^ 

Gwyneth smiled. 

“ And how do you like him 9” 

Florine lifted her blue, glittering eyes to Miss Vivian’s 
impatient, fevered face. 

“ Mademoiselle, said she, slowly, “I could die for 
him!” 

Gwyneth turned to the front of the box again, with the 
old shrug of her shoulders. 

Child,” said she, ‘‘ you are stage-struck! It is easy to 
see that you have never visited the opera before!” 

And Gwyneth was more restless than ever that night as 
she lay tossing among her pillows, while little Florine, fast 
asleep, dreamed of Gaspard Montini’s electric dark eyes 
and voice of melody. 

Poor A 67 ! Had he dreamed what was to be the end of 
it he would hardly have been so eager in recommending 
Florine Dufour to the vacant place as lady’s-maid, at 
No. — , Delavan Place. 

Miss Vivian found the girl quick, pliant, and ready- 
witted, and during the next few days she and Signor Mon- 
tini exchanged more than one note, by means of this subtle 
and fieet-footed little messenger. 

“ Florine! That is your name, isn’t it?” 

Signor Gaspard Montini sat in one of the little dressing- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


205 


rooms back of the stage at the Opera House, in a black vel- 
vet costume, slashed with rose satin, a rose-colored plume 
drooping over his handsome swarthy face, and a glittering 
scabbard at his side, from which peeped the jeweled hilt 
of a stage-bravo’s sword. Florine stood before him, in 
her serge cloak and blue veil, just where she had been 
standing for twenty minutes, waiting for him to come off 
the stage, where a dress rehearsal of “ Lucia di Lammer- 
moor ” was in progress. 

“ Yes, signor. Florine Dufour.” 

‘‘ Ay. You are a good child, Florine. And I want to 
ask you a question or two.” 

“ Yes, signor.” 

“ Your young lady, is she engaged to this Mr. Vava- 
sor?” asked Montini, intently watching the expression of 
the girl’s face. 

“Ho, signor, not yet.” 

“ Hot yet?” 

“ Ho, signor. But I think she will be soon.” 

“Ah! He admires her very much, then?” 

“ Oh, very much.” Florine clasped her little hands as 
she spoke. 

“ And she? She would be very glad to be the rich 
man’s bride, eh?” with a sneer that would have made his 
fortune could he have imitated it on the green baize as 
“ Mephistopheles.” 

“You should know best about that, signor,” Florine 
retorted, quickly. 

“ He comes there often?” 

“ Every day, signor.” 

“ And she receives him?” 

“ Of course she receives him.” 

Montini set his teeth tight together. “ Little one,” said 
he, unfolding the note which all this while he had been 
twirling between his fingers and reperusing its contents, 
“ do you know what Miss Vivian has written to me?” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


206 

/ “ How should I, signor?’^ 

“ Wait, then; I will read it to you. ‘ I can not meet 
you to-morrow in the Gardens. Do not expect me!’ 
Now,” slowly unfolding it again, and fixing his great eyes 
like jet suns upon her face, ‘‘ what does it mean? She 
promised to meet me at six o’clock in Kensington Gardens. 
What is the reason that she is not true to her engage- 
ment?” 

Signor, how should 1 know?” Florine was beginning 
to tremble; there was something in his look that terrified 
even while it fascinated her. He laid his white slim fingers 
like an ivory vise on her arm. 

“ You do know, child,” he hissed; “ speak out, or by 
the shrine of St. Gaspard 1 may be tempted to strangle 
you here at my feet.” 

Florine shrunk away with a low cry. 

“ Signor, forgive me,” she faltered; “ do not look so 
terrible, and 1 will tell you all. Mr. Vavasor has sent 
word that he will call at six!” 

“ Ah — h — h — !” Signor Montini smiled. “ Miss Vivian 
will have to make up her mind between us two, and that 
without loss of time! I, too, will call at six, and we shall 
see which is preferred, I or that purse-proud nabob! You 
may go now, mia picciola.” softening his voice to unusual 
mildness; “stay, here is a piece of gold! You will not 
take it? Then I shall pay you with a kiss instead. You 
are a good child and pretty.” 

The call for “ Edgardo ” sounded just then, and 
Montini rose, wrapping his velvet mantle over his shoul- 
ders, and strode out of the room. 

On the table where he had leaned his elbow a perfumed 
pocket-handkerchief, with a monogram wrought into one 
of the corners, lay. Florine picked it up, pressed it to her 
trembling lips, and placed it in her bosom, with the mute 
attitude of one who worships an unseen idol. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 207 

And then speeding out into the March sunshine^ she 
nearly fell over the stalwart form of A 67. 

“Derwent!’^ 

Florine had more than ordinary control over her feat- 
ures on usual occasions, but this time she was taken by 
surprise and completely thrown off her guard. 

“Didn^t expect to see me, did you?"^ said A 67 with a 
sardonic grin upon his lips, as he drew her arm under his. 

“Don't stop me, Derwent," she cried, emphatically, 
“ I am in a hurry." 

“Yes," said Derwent Bryan, bitterly, but without re- 
laxing his hold of her struggling arms, “ you are in a 
hurry. You speak truthfully there, Florine Dufour. 
You are in a hurry to leave behind your decency, respecta- 
bility, and a good name, all for a foreign adventurer who 
sings his way into a woman's heart and leaves it to break. 
But have you considered whether or not you are doing a 
wise thing?" 

“ How dare you speak so to me?" flashed out the girl, 
suddenly facing him. “ What right have you to dog me 
and spy upon me?" 

“ Florine," said Bryan, with a voice that faltered with 
suppressed emotion, “ I was a friend to you when you 
were friendless. I have known you siifce you were a child. 
All that you have and are in this world, you owe to me. 
And now you fling me aside for the sake of this opera-sing- 
ing fellow, whom you have only seen half a dozen times." 

Florine's chest heaved, the blue lightnings quivered 
ominously in her downcast eyes. 

“ Now, see here," said Bryan, stopping abruptly, and 
looking full at her, “ this sort of thing can't go on any 
longer. You must choose once and forever between me 
and Gaspard Montini!" 

“ I have chosen," said the girl, in a suffocated voice. 
‘‘1 do choose!" 


208 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Is it me? Florine, my own darling, only tell me that 
it is your own friend you have chosen. 

She flung off his arm. 

No,^" she cried, tempestuously, “it is not you! You 
tire me — you make me weary, and I don^t care for you. 
Now, leave me.^’ 

And fluttering away, light and soft as a young antelope, 
Florine Dufour hurried down a wide street, and was lost to 
view. 

A 67 stood looking after her with folded arms and a 
heavy frown on his forehead. 

“ Is it so?’^ he muttered between his closed lips. “ And 
so soon! Little Florine, that was a baby but yesterday! 
But, God willing, child. I’ll save you yet.’^ 

And with slow steps he went down the street. 


CHAPTER XXL 

A JEALOUS WIFE. 

Mrs. Oswald Carruthers was in great spirits. She 
had received cards to the ball of a certain great duchess 
who reigned supreme in the fashionable world of London 
that season — received them through Lady Justinia Brooke, 
who had herself asked the duchess for them; and Gerty, 
who pined for admission into the sacred arcana of society, 
was, for the moment, supremely happy. 

“ Don’t build your hopes too high, m^r dear,” said Lady 
Justinia, shrugging her shoulders. “Just as likely as not 
her grace will not speak to you!” 

“ I don’t care whether she does or not,” said Mrs. Car- 
ruthers, gleefully. “ It’s something to say I have been to 
a ball at Adlington House! I only wish you could have 
secured a ticket for Gwyneth too!” 

“One can’t ask for too much,” said Lady Justinia, 
scornfully. 

“ Well, that will come in time,” responded Gertrude. 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 209 

And she drove directly to a celebrated modisteh to order a 
dress that would be worthy of the grand occasion and the 
wearer. 

Upon the night of this sixteenth of March — a night des- 
tined to be eventful to more than one of our characters — 
Gwyneth Vivian sat in her room, with her elbows on her 
knees, and her chin in her hands, staring earnestly at the 
fire. Fiorine had just put the last touches to her dress, a 
superb fabric of lilac moire, cut low in the shoulders, with 
a tucker of creamy Valenciennes lace laid in puffs, and 
fastened with a bow of lilac ribbon. Her hair was braided 
and looped in a silken net, and long pendants of filigree 
silver hung from her ears, like glittering icicles. 

“ Mademoiselle is lovely to-night Florine had said 
with soft enthusiasm; but Gwyneth had not even looked 
into the mirror before she sunk spiritlessly on the low 
chair before the fire. 

“You can go, Florine, she said,“ I want to be alone. 
I must think. 

But thinking, even after the noiseless doors had closed 
upon the light footsteps of the waiting-maid, was no such 
easy task. Gwyneth Vivian knew that the hour had come 
in which she must make a final decision between Rosse 
Vavasor, the millionaire, and Gaspard Montini; and yet, 
as she gazed into the fire and tried to collect her wander- 
ing thoughts and concentrate them all on the one im- 
portant business of the hour, she could not bring herself 
to that decision. 

Suddenly the door burst open, making the girl start 
nervously, and Gertrude Carruthers swept in, bringing an 
invisible atmosphere of electric anger with her. Gwyneth 
started up. Surely, surely, Montini had never been so in- 
sane as to — 

“ Gerty,^^ she cried, breathlessly, “ what is it? What 
has happened?’^ 


210 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Oswald, of course/^ retorted Mrs. Oarruthers, 
pacing up and down the rooms, like a chafed tigress. 

“ Oswald.’^ A great weight seemed lifted off Gwyneth^s 
heart. “ But what has Oswald done?^^ 

“ He will not go with me to Adlington House to-night. 

“ Not go with you?^^ 

“ Not a step!^^ answered Gerty, stopping short in front 
of her sister. 

“ But why not?^^ questioned Gwyneth. 

“ He says he is engaged,^ uttering the word with an in- 
describable hiss. “ I asked him where, and he declined to 
answer. But he need not have been so reticent. 1 know 
very well whither he is going. I know where his leisure 
time is spent of late! I know, ignorant fool though he 
may think me, what the attraction is!^^ 

“ You mean Christabel Fane?’^ hazarded Gwyneth. 

“ Of course I mean Christabel Fane. Isn^t his infatua- 
tion for her patent to all beholders 

Then, of course,’’ said Gwyneth, “ you can not go!” 

“ Can not 1? But 1 will go!” cried Gertrude, resum- 
ing her angry walk up and down once more. “ Do you 
think I will give up the ball at Adlington House, for which 
I have schemed and studied so long, merely to humor Os- 
wald’s whims? 1 shall go, but I shall put on a disguise 
and follow him wheresoever he goes, first!” 

“ Not a bad idea,” observed Gwyneth, with a half smile. 

“ You have a black water-proof cloak with a domino 
hood to it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Will you lend it to me? And as soon as Oswald saun- 
ters out, in that indifferent way of his, 1 follow him quiet" 
ly, and like a shadow. I will know whither he goes. I 
luill give Christabel Fane to understand that 1 know her 
tricks and wiles, and that I will no longer tolerate them. 
Where’s the cloak?” 

“ In yonder wardrobe,” Gwyneth answered. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


211 


“ Very well, I can go and get back easily enough before 
it is time to dress for the ball! I shall wait in the blue 
boudoir until 1 see Oswald go out. What is that, Flor- 
ine? A card 

“For Miss Vivian, madame!^’ cried the girl, instinctive- 
ly stepping back. 

But Mrs. Carruthers had caught the card from the sil- 
ver salver before Gwyneth^s outstretched hand could reach 
it, and read the copper-plate inscription: 

“ Gaspard Montini.^^ 

She flung the bit of pasteboard on the carpet, as if its 
touch were contamination, and went to the door of the 
room. 

“ Morris,^^ called she to the footman, “ I thought you 
had orders that Miss Vivian was never at home to Signor 
Montini!'" 

“Yes, madame; but — 

“ You are discharged. Let Powder tell the man that 
Miss Vivian is not at home. Not at home, I say!^^ 

And the clear, decisive tones of her voice reached the 
ears of the Italian tenor, who was standing in the marble- 
paved vestibule below. 

Gaspard Montini turned away and left the house, with a 
face pale, set, and stern, and with brows from under which 
the jetty lightnings burned ominously. 

“ Good!” he muttered to himself in his native language. 
“ / am shut into outer darkness, like a lost spirit. Let us 
wait and see if the golden favorite of fortune is more 
lucky.” 

And drawing back into the brick-arched stable-way of a 
vacant house nearly opposite, where the deep shadows en- 
veloped and concealed him like a garment, Gaspard Mon- 
tini held his mute and tireless vigil. 

He had not long to wait. Scarcely five minutes had 
elapsed before Mr. Vavasor’s carriage drew up at the 


212 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


door, and Mr. Vavasor’s tall, portly form disappeared into 
the house. 

“ Ah!” murmured the signor to himself, “ she is at 
home to Mm. ” 

And while Gaspard Montini, with heart beating in loud, 
fevered throbs, and eyes ablaze with unholy fire, kept a 
ceaseless watch upon the great carved door- way, he little 
suspected that he, too, was watched. From behind the 
draperies of an opposite window Florine Dufour was watch- 
ing, with strained eyes and bated breath, his every move- 
ment. 

Mr. Vavasor did not stay long. At the expiration of little 
more than half an hour he came out once again, fitting on 
his lavender-colored kid gloves, and whistling softly under 
his breath. As the glow of the carriage lamps fell on his 
trim, clean - shaven countenance, Montini instinctively 
stepped forward with an expression on his countenance 
which was not jfieasant to behold. But he checked him- 
self instantaneously. 

“He is but her tool!” he muttered to himself, “ why 
should 1 wreak my vengeance on Mm 9 Patience — patience 
— she must spend the evening somewhere. If she remains 
at home, she shall yet grant me the interview I have sued 
for in vain; if not — ” 

The current of his thoughts was interrupted as the door 
opened once again, letting a ruddy stream of gas-light into 
the foggy obscurity of the night. This time it was Oswald 
Carruthers who came out. Montini never stirred, and the 
next moment a second figure crept out of the area door — 
the slight tall figure of a woman, flitting down the street a 
few yards behind the unconscious figure of Oswald Car- 
ruthers. Montini leaned forward, trying to penetrate the 
mist and distance of the spring evening with the fires of 
his preternaturally sharpened eyes. Was it Gwyneth? 
The height, the figure, the gait, were all hers; and as the 
gleam of a gas-lamp brought her momentarily into view. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


213 


he recognized the black water-proof she had worn in his 
presence more than once with its deep cape, and the 
domino hood that concealed her face completely from 
view. 

He was about frantically to rush after her, when a police, 
man came around the corner and sauntered down the 
street, and Montini shrunk back among the shadows of the 
archway; it was not his cue to he discovered then and 
there. 

Wait,’^ he muttered to himself— “ wait. She will re- 
turn soon; she must — and then, oh, false, doubly false 
siren; there is then a third lover somewhere — a favored 
suitor to whom she steals, when she believes that I am far 
away, and the purse-proud idiot of a banker has gone back 
to his bags of gold.^’ 

And Gaspard Montini ^s hand involuntarily stole down- 
ward to the pocket of his under-coat, where a tiny pistol, 
with a jeweled handle and glittering, murderous muzzle, 
lay^concealed. 

While the Italian tenor was chewing the bitter cud of 
fancies like these, the little room of !No. 16 Halidome 
Villas was all alight with fire and lamp-glow. Of late it 
had assumed a cheerier and more home-like aspect. One 
or two of the little water-color sketches which had proved 
unsalable on the neighboring shop - windows had been 
framed by Sidney^s art, and hung on the walls; a few ge- 
raniums filled the window, and a blackbird^s cage was sus- 
pended between the curtains, while a deep-colored Turkey 
rug, hired from a furniture warehouse, covered the obnox- 
ious carpet in front of the fire, and suggested Eastern lands 
in its rich combinations of color and fantastically inter- 
woven patterns. 

Christabel Fane was sewing by the shaded lamp, finish- 
ing an order from a ready-made linen establishment where 
she had solicited work. She had grown pale and thin in 
the past few weeks. Kobins do not thrive in cages, and 


214 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


Christabel, whose whole life had been spent in breezy up- 
lands and in the breath of the woods and hayfields, pined 
sadly after the country wilderness upon which she had 
turned her back so resolutely. Moreover, she was begin- 
ning to be made painfully conscious of the fact — a fact 
which she had as yet concealed from Sidney — that they 
were running steadily behind in the matter of expenses. 
Instead of laying up a little money for possible contingen- 
cies, as she had at first fondly hoped to do, she found the 
expenses of their humble mode of life far exceeding the 
precarious income which alone they could command. 

All this told upon poor Christabel. The roses had died 
out of her cheek; a wistful, troubled look had come into 
her dark eyes, and she was unwontedly nervous at times. 
But this evening something of the old peace and repose 
had come back to her face as she sat at work, with Sidney 
curled up in a deep -cushioned easy-chair on the opposite 
side the table, and Oswald Carruthers leaning over his 
shoulder, one of his hands in the boy^s caressing hold. 

“ I say, Oswald,^^ said Sidney, “ I wish you would come 
oftener. It^s a whole ten days since you were here last!^^ 
Oswald smiled. “ 1 am waiting for Christabel to invite 
me,^’ said he. 

“ Oh, Chris!' ^ looking laughingly across at his adopted 
sister^s face. “ She is as glad as I am to see you! And I 
wish, Oswald, you would bring us some more books! It^s 
horribly stupid here, while a fellow^s back aches so that he 
canT work, and Chris is out looking for work.^^ 

“ 1 will bring a fresh lot to-morrow, Sidney, and one of 
those new turning lathes, that will ease your work some- 
what!’^ Oswald answered, looking sadly down into the 
boy’s eyes. 

“ Dear Oswald,” said Christabel, gratefully, “ how good 
you are! Only I feel that we must not accept too much at 
your hands, while — ” 

He shook his head as he rose. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


215 


“ Too much!^^ he repeated, bitterly. “ When I remem- 
ber all of which 1 have robbed this boy — 

“Come, now, Oswald,” interposed Sidney, “that^s 
coming it rather too strong, you know. ” 

“ Well, we won^’t talk of it now,^’ said Oswald. “ I 
shall send the doctor in a day or two, Christabel, to look 
after those stray aches and pains that Sid tells about, and 
mind, the bills are to be my affair, not yours. ” 

“For Sidney^s sake 1 shall accept your kindness,” said 
Christabel, who had risen also. 

“ I believe that girl would be ready to go through fire and 
water for my sake,” said Sidney, looking up at her with 
eyes where tears and laughter strove in April fashion. 
“ And now that — ” 

But he was interrupted here by the flying open of the 
door and the sudden apparition of a woman, dressed in a 
black water-proof robe, and with her face hidden by a 
domino hood. 

Christabel shrunk back with a slight scream. Sidney 
grasped at his crutches and scrambled to his feet, and Mr. 
Carruthers advanced to the door with angry surprise. 

“ Who are you?” he demanded, sternly, “ and what 
right have you to enter a room, unbidden, in this man- 
ner?” 

“ The right of an outraged and insulted wife!” cried 
out Gertrude Carruthers, flinging back the hood of the 
cloak and facing her husband like an infuriated leopardess, 
with tangled, red-gold hair falling about her half-closed 
eyes, from which scintillated fiery sparks. “ So I have 
discovered the secret of your engagements, sir! And you, 
wretched, scheming adventuress,” to poor Christabel, who 
shrunk before the volley of her wrath as if every word had 
been an arrow, “ how dare you lure my husband to your 
toils? How dare you coax him with your smiles and 
honeyed words, when — ” 

But Oswald Carruthers interposed here, and, taking 


216 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Gertrude by the shoulders, put her outside the door by 
main force. 

“ Gertrude, said he, in an ominous calm voice, al- 
though he was pale to the very lips, and his eyes blazed 
with dangerous light, “ go home, and do not disgrace 
either me or yourself any further 

“ Disgrace!’^ began Gertrude, passionately. “ If the 
disgrace— 

“ Go home, I say!^^ thundered Oswald, and Gertrude, 
throwing the hood of her cloak once more over her face, 
rushed down-stairs, crying out as she went: 

“ 1"11 poison myself sooner than endure this longer! Fll 
cut my own throat — or else I'll cut yours, Oswald Car- 
ruthers!" 

As she banged the street door behind her, Oswald turned 
to Christabel Fane, who, terrified and thunder-struck, still 
stood in the middle of the room. 

Christabel," said he, “ forgive me for having unwit- 
tingly brought this ignominy upon you, and forget it if 
you can." 

“I — I think she must be, craz}^" faltered Christabel, 
clinging tight to Sidney's arm. 

“Crazy!" Carruthers bitterly repeated. “Yes, crazy 
with arrogance and temper. God forgive me, but there 
are times when I feel almost tempted to murder her! 
There, don't look so pale and frightened," with a forced 
smile, “ it's all over now. And remember this," he add- 
ed, with an emphasis which haunted the girl for weeks 
afterward, “ this shall never happen again; of that I 
pledge you my word!" 

“ But where are you going, Oswald?" cried Sidney, as 
the young American turned to the door which had stood 
open all this while. 

“lam going after her; I am going to settle this mat- 
ter, once and forever!" 

But Gertrude Carruthers had fled through the street at 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


217 


a rate of speed which made the overtaking of her no easy 
matter; and her husband was still nearly half a block away 
when, panting and passionate, she set her foot upon the 
step of her own house. 

At that very second a sudden scarlet flash seemed to 
cleave the foggy darkness — the report of a pistol rang 
out, sharp and clear, and Mrs. Carruthers fell a quiv- 
ering and lifeless heap at the foot of the stone steps with 
a bullet through her brain! 

Almost in the twinkling of an eye the decorous, quiet, 
and somber silence of the street was transfigured into a 
scene of bustle and confusion. Lights gleamed from doors 
and windows; people hurried up from every direction, and 
Gwyneth Vivian, opening the drawing-room casement, 
looked down upon a sight which she never forgot to her 
dying day — Gertrude^s dead face seeming to stare up at 
her in the lurid glare of a policeman^s bulFs-eye lantern as 
it lay on the arm of Oswald Carruthers, who knelt on the 
pavement at the foot of the steps, while A 67, who had as 
mysteriously appeared on the scene as if he had risen from 
the very ground, stooped down and picked up something 
small and glittering that lay beside Oswald’s feet. 

“A pistol,” said he, critically examining it; “and the 
lady has been shot. Dear, dear! Here, 968, I’ll lend a 
hand to carry her in! Shot dead on her own doorsteps! 
Take the lantern, sir, please, and lead the way,” to Oswald 
Carruthers, who obeyed, as if he was in a frightful dream. 
“ Easy here! Yes, this sofa in the hall will do as well as 
any place to lay her on!” 

^ 4 : « « % 

The curtain of the Grand Italian Opera rose at eight 
precisely that evening, and Gaspard Montini as Edgardo 
Ravenswood, never was in better voice and never acted 
with more spirit and pathos. But when he went back to 
his rooms in an obscure Italian hotel, which he preferred 
on account of the nationality of its landlord, he sunk down 


218 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


on the floor, with both his hands pressed to his temples, 
and the cry upon his lips: 

“ My head — my head 

And, drifting off upon the wave of brain fever, past, 
present, and future became alike a blur to him. 

And no one but Florine Dufour — little Florin e, who had 
never once abated her watch beside the curtains — knew 
that the fatal shot had been fired by the hand of Gaspard 
Montini. 


CHAPTEK XXll. 

THE CORONER^'S INQUEST. 

The next day dawned drearily enough upon the closed 
mansion in Delavan Place, a day of mist and fog, with 
now and then a rush of rain streaming down the window- 
panes like tears. Drearily enough, with Gertrude’s dead 
corpse lying in the darkened study at the end of the hall, 
and people creeping on tiptoe past the door as if fearful 
lest their footsteps might disturb the eternal slumbers of 
the rigid form inside. 

Gwyneth Vivian was in hysterics in her own room, with 
Florine Dufour in attendance upon her. Once, when the 
girl handed her a smelling-bottle, Gwyneth looked quick- 
ly up.^ 

“ Your hands are as cold as ice,” said she. “ You 
tremble. It is not your sister that has been murdered!” 

Florine shuddered at the last word. 

“No, mademoiselle,” said she, “ you say true! But I 
— I never saw death so sharp and sudden before!” 

And she burst into tears that momentarily distracted 
Gwyneth’s attention from her own troubles. 

“ Florine,” cried she, angrily, “ how thoughtless you 
are! If you are going to break down like this, you’ll be of 
no manner of use to me.” 

“.Do not fear, mademoiselle,” said Florine, recovering 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 219 

herself almost in an instant. “ I shall not break down — 
it is all over now.^'’ 

And the girl was calm and collected from that moment. 

Oswald Carruthers had neither undressed nor lain down 
all that dismal, endless night. All through the lagging 
hours Mrs. Beckford, who watched with the corpse in the 
room below, could hear the regular fall of his footsteps 
pacing to and fro, to and fro, until, as she herself expressed 
it, “ She was ready to And when the dawn broke 

gray and unpromising over the fog-wrapped world, he put 
on his hat and went softly down-stairs. 

But as he opened the front door to go out, a dark, tall 
figure stepped forward from the shadow of the outer vesti- 
bule — the figure of a policeman. 

“ Let me pass, my good fellow,^^ said Carruthers a little 
impatiently, as the man stood directly in his path, “lam 
going for a walk.^’ 

The policeman touched his hat, but never stirred. 

“ Against orders, said he. 

“ Against orders? Why?^^ 

The man hesitated a little. 

“Mr. Carruthers,’^ said he, “it ain’t a pleasant thing 
to say, but you’re to consider yourself under arrest.” 

“I! Under arrest? For — for the murder of my own 
wife!” cried out Carruthers, scarcely able to believe the 
evidence of his own ears. 

“ Yes, sir!” doggedly answered the policeman. “For 
the murder of your own wife.” 

“ Are you all mad?” shouted Carruthers. And for an 
instant he was almost disposed to knock the policeman 
down and rush out into the free air, in spite of him or any 
one else. But second thoughts convinced him of the 
Quixotic folly of any such summary method of proceeding. 

“I’m very sorry,” said the man, respectfully; “but 
orders is orders.” 

“You are right, my man,” said Carruthers. “ If these 


220 


LOVE AXD JEALOUSY. 


people have any such bee in their bonnets, they must get 
it out again by legal and proper methods, and 1 must wait 
their action as patiently as may be.’^ 

And he turned back into the house, much wondering at 
the possibility of any suspicion attaching itself to him. 

“ Heaven knows,” he told himself, “ that although poor 
Gerty and I did not live happily together, 1 should have 
been the last one in the world to wish actual evil to befall 
her!^^ 

And the young American, unaccustomed to self-exami- 
nation, or any keen analysis of situation or character, never 
thought of how grisly a chain of circumstantial evidence 
his own words and deeds had woven to drag him down 
into nameless abysses of doubt and suspicion. 

The coroner’s inquest was held at eleven o’clock that 
morning. Mr. Carruthers gave his evidence shortly and 
simply. He had been calling at the house of a friend in 
Halidome Villas, when his wife had followed him. She 
had left the house before him, and he had hastened after 
her, thinking to overtake her. He had heard the pistol 
shot, and had rushed up, just in time to lift her dead body 
from the ground. 

The magistrate, a gray-headed gentleman, looked keen- 
ly at the pale, frank face of the young man. 

‘^Mr. Carruthers,” said he, “you will pardon me for 
making a few rather direct inquiries?” 

“ Inquire what you please,” Oswald answered, promptly. 

“Well, then, on what terms did you part with your 
wife at that house in Halidome Villas?” 

Oswald’s face clouded over. He hesitated a moment, 
and then forced himself to answer: 

“lam sorry to say that we were both very angry.” 

“ Do you object to state upon what cause?” questioned 
the magistrate. 

“ No, sir. Mrs. Carruthers did not like my going to 
Halidome Villas. She followed me, and used very un- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. / 221 

bridled language. I told her to go home, and, lingering 
only long enough t© apologize to my friends there for her 
behavior, I went after her.^^ 

“ Ahr^ thought the coroner, “a lady in the case, as 
usual. Will you give me the exact name and address of 
these people at Halidome Villas?” 

Again Oswald hesitated. 

“ Is that absolutely necessary, Mr. Santley?” asked he. 

“lam afraid it is,” was the coroner’s reply. 

“ In that case, I must submit to the inevitable,” said 
Oswald, slowly, as he penciled the names of “ Christabel 
Fane ” and “ Sidney Carruthers ” on a card, with the ad- 
dress, “No. 16 Halidome Villas,” below. A man was 
promptly dispatched with a cab to bring these new wit- 
nesses, while Mr. Santley went on with his examination. 

“Had you and Mrs. Carruthers been on good terms 
previously to this?” he asked. 

“ Sometimes, and sometimes not,” was the naive reply. 

“ Then you did not live together happily?” 

“ Not altogether, sir. Mrs. Carruthers was trying at 
times, and I do not profess to have the best temper in the 
world; but,” with a sudden awakening to the awful conse- 
quences which might hang on every word he spoke, “ you 
must not suppose, Mr. Santley, that I ever meant to hurt 
a hair of her head.” 

“I suppose nothing,” said the magistrate, imperturba- 
bly. “ May 1 ask if you are in the habit of carrying con- 
cealed weapons, Mr. Carruthers?” , 

“ I never did such a thing in my life.” 

“It is said to be a characteristic of Americans,” re- 
marked the coroner. 

“ Then I differ from my race in that respect, totally and 
entirely,” asserted Oswald. 

“lam told that you pride yourself on your costly and 
elegant pistols?” went on the coroner. 

“ Yes, but I keep them in a case in my dressing-room. 


222 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


I have not fired off one, except to clean and reload them, 
in a year. 

Do you object to my sending for them?’^ 

“ Not at all, sir. 

And Mr. Santley sent the butler for his master’s pistol- 
case. Both the pistols lay loaded in their repository, and 
neither of them in the least degree resembled the little 
jeweled toy of foreign manufacture which evidently pro- 
pelled the fatal missile. 

Derwent Bryan was next called to the stand. His evidence 
was short and simple. “ He had just gone down to the 
area door of the mansion in Delavan Place to visit the 
lady’s-maid, who was a friend of his, when he heard the 
report, and rushing up, saw that Mrs. Oswald Carruthers 
had been shot. Knew that Mrs. Carruthers was a lady of 
very uncertain temper. Had often heard the servants talk 
of the domestic unhappiness in which their master and 
mistress lived. Had no reason to suppose that Mr. Car- 
ruthers fired the shot. Did not know who would be likely 
to do it.” 

“ Not even yourself, Mr. Bryan?” shrewdly questioned 
the magistrate. “ Stand aside, if you please. We shall 
not need you any more at present. Sarah Beckford!” 

And Mrs. Beckford, very red and fiurried, stated, “ that 
Mrs. Carruthers on the night of the tenth of February, 
18 — , she remembered the date, for it was the evening she 
always wrote letters to catch the India mail for Calcutta, 
where her married daughter lived, and the inkstand got 
overturned on the new table-cover, in the general melee — 
had come down into her room, and sharply reproved Der- 
went Bryan for hanging around her house and servants’ 
hall. She threatened to report him at police head-quar- 
ters, sir,” said Mrs. Beckford, “ and he was very angry 
and said he’d be revenged. Florine Dufour, the lady’s- 
maid, sir, she heard it, every word, if my say isn’t enough.” 


LOVE AND JKALOUSY. 223 

And Florine Dufour called forward, corroborated Mrs. 
Becker^s testimony, reluctantly, and with swollen eyes. 

“ Halloo!’^ cried A 67, with both hands in his pockets; 
‘‘ does anybody suppose that / murdered that poor lady?'’ 

“ No matter about that,” said the magistrate, brusque- 
ly. “ You are under arrest, at all events, until we get a 
little more daylight upon this question, Mr. Derwant 
Bryan. ” 

Bryan touched his cap. 

“All right, sir,” said he, “whatever is agreeable to 
your honor, suits me; and every day I live,” he added, 
sotto voce, “ I’m more convinced of the good common sense 
of holding my tongue. ” 

By this time the hack-cab had arrived from No. 16 Hali- 
dome Villas with its startled occupants. 

“ Oh, Oswald!” cried Sidney, throwing himself into the 
young prisoner’s arms. “ You did ^not do it! Say that 
you did not!” 

“ You know that I didn’t, Sid,” soothed Oswald, him- 
self the calmest of the three. “ Be brave and calm, my 
boy! Hush; don’t you see that you disturb the coroner?” 

“ This is out of all precedent,” said Mr. Santley, stern- 
ly. “ Take a seat, boy. Is this Miss Fane?” 

And Christabel, frightened and shrinking, answered the 
magistrate’s kindly put questions. 

“ Mr. Oarruthers had been at her house the preceding 
evening. Mrs. Oarruthers had followed him. She had 
been very angry, and had used insulting language. Mr. 
Oarruthers also had been excited. He had taken hold of 
Mrs. Oarruthers’s shoulders, and put her outside. Not 
roughly,” in answer to Mr. Santley, “ but very firmly. 
He had told her to go home, and not disgrace him any 
more. ’ ’ 

“ Did he say anything else?” 

Ohristabel Fane looked with startled eyes at the magis- 
trate, then at Oswald. 


224 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Please don’t ask me any more/’ she faltered. “ Am 
I obliged to answer anything more? He did not mean it, 
I am sure he did not!” 

“ I am afraid I must insist upon an answer,” said the 
magistrate, mildly. 

“ Speak the truth, Christabel,” said Oswald, boldly. 
“ I know well that it will he spoken through no fault or 
malice of yours. I am only reaping the reward of my own 
mad folly and ungovernable temper. ” 

He said,” faltered Christabel, with downcast eyes, 
and trembling all over like a leaf, “ that he was afraid he 
should be tempted — should be tempted to murder her 
some day. ” 

“ That will do,” said Mr. Santley, not without a sparkle 
of pity in his grave eyes. “ Mr. Sidney Carruthers!” 
reading the name from the card on which Oswald had 
written it. 

And Sidney only repeated the evidence which Christabel 
had just previously been compelled to give. 

Gwyneth Vivian, the sister of the deceased lady, was 
next called. She was much excited, and so hysterical that 
it was with difficulty anything satisfactory or coherent 
could be elicited from her. It was quite evident that she 
believed her sister had been foully murdered by Oswald 
Carruthers. She testified to the unhappy domestic life of 
the husband and wife — to Gertrude’s frequent complaints 
to her, and Oswald’s unveiled dislike and contempt for his 
wife. Altogether, the testimony of this young lady was 
rather damaging to the cause of her brother-in-law. 

But the coroner’s inquest resulted in nothing more than 
vague uncertainty, after all. Derwent Bryan was released 
by the testimony of his brother-policeman (the one who 
had been first upon the spot) that he had heard the pistol- 
shot full half a minute before A 67 came out of the area. 
The house-maid, a dimpled little cherry-cheeked lass, who 
had been brought up from Fane’s Bridge, swore, in a hys- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


225 


terical manner, that Mr. Bryan was talking to her about 
Florine Dufour when the shot had sounded, and Mr. Bryan 
had exclaimed: “ Good God! what is the matter?’^ And 
a physician, the same who had been called in the night be- 
fore, arriving from his round of vrisits at the eleventh hour, 
took a grave and thoughtful observation of the street, 
looked once more at the corpse, and fully gave it as his 
opinion that the fatal shot was not fired by Oswald Car- 
ruthers. 

“ Upon what do you base your assertion, doctor?^^ said 
the coroner, looking intently at him. 

“ Don^t you see? The bullet was sped from a direction 
obliquely opposite. You can see just where and how it 
entered. Mr. Carruthers was seen by policeman 968 com- 
ing up behind, if you remember. 

“ Are you quite sure of this?^^ 

“ About the bullet you can satisfy yourself, said Dr. 
Meyrich, dryly. ‘‘ About the other matter I have no other 
evidence than the policeman^s word, which I should sup- 
pose to be reliable enough. No, Mr. Santley, you can 
hardly commit a man in the face of facts like these 

“lam heartily glad of it,^^ said the magistrate, with a 
long breath. “ The young husband seems to feel shocked 
enough, although as untamed as a lion^s cub, and I donT 
really believe he did it — only things do look rather black 
for him. He and his wife were evidently supremely tired 
of one another!’’ 

“ Not the only couple in London who are living on those 
terms, I imagine,” said the doctor, shrewdly. 

So the awful cloud of peril which had for awhile dark- 
ened Oswald Carruthers’s future was lifted, and the young 
widower was free again! Free, however, only to realize 
that he was as much under the blighting shadow of suspi- 
cion as ever. 

At first he rebelled vehemently against covert glances, 

veiled innuendoes, and cold greetings, from those who had 
8 


226 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


SO brief awhile ago been his warmest friends; but he soon 
learned the folly of beating his soul against these in- 
domitable barriers, and took refuge in a dignified silence 
which was far harder to maintain. Of all his former asso- 
ciates, only two believed in him — Christabel Fane and 
Sidney Carruthers. 

“ If it were not for you two I believe I should go mad,^' 
said he, smiling sadly. “ I suppose all this is needful dis- 
cipline, but it is hard to bear!’^ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

BETTINE DUROCQUE. 

“ Look, Sidney, do you think I have got the right color- 
ing in this cloth-of-gold rosebud? It is so difficult to give 
it the real yellow tint, and avoid a touch of orange. 

Christabel Fane sighed uneasily as, leaning back in her 
chair, she looked earnestly, first at the exquisite half- 
opened rosebud, nestling in green leaves, and placed in a 
wine-glassful of water, that served as a model, and then at 
her copy of it in water-colors. 

Sidney Carruthers rose and limped around to his adopt- 
ed sister^ s side. 

“ Do you want me to make myself agreeable,^^ said he, 
“ or do you want me to tell you the truth?^^ 

“ The truth, of course 

“ Well, then, I donT think it is as good as you generally 
paint, Chris, said the boy, surveying it with his head on 
one side. “ YouTe not vexed with me?^^ 

“ Vexed? Oh, no!^^ Christabel pushed the piece of 
Bristol board away with another sigh. “ Only I seem to 
do nothing well of late. All the skill has gone out of my 
fingers, and the originality out of my brain.'’’ 

Sidney stole one arm caressingly around her shoulder. 

“ I know what’s the matter with you, Chrissy,” said he. 
“ You are fretting about Oswald.” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


227 


A deep red flush mounted to Christabel Fane^s forehead. 

“ How can I help it, Sidney’/ ^ said she, “ when I re- 
member what I was compelled to say about him at that in- 
quest. 

“ Wasn’t I compelled to say the same thing?” flashed 
out Sidney. “ And didn’t I feel like a pickpocket all the 
time? But you see, Chrissy, it wasn’t our fault, and Os- 
wald knows it wasn’t. Hush!” starting suddenly away, 
“ I do believe — I can’t be mistaken — that is his footstep 
on the stairs now.” 

And Sidney eagerly limped to open the door, thereby 
anticipating Oswald Carruthers’s knock upon its panels. 

“ What’s the proverb, old fellow!” cries he, gleefully. 
“ Speak of the what’s-his-name, and you hear the clatter 
of his hoofs and horns! Talk of angels, and you see the 
flutter of their wings! You can select whichever similitude 
you like. Because, really and truly, we were talking of 
you.” 

Oswald came in with a smile, which had, however, 
something sad and troubled in its light. 

“ A great many people seem to be talking of me just at 
present,” said he. 

“ But not as we talk, Oswald,” asserted Sidney. 

Christabel held out her hand, at the same time reading 
his countenance with inquiring eyes. 

“Oswald,” said she, “has the dark hour passed away 
from you yet?” 

“Partly,” he answered, sinking heavily into a chair. 
“ As much, perhaps, as it ever will. But, Christabel, I 
did not come here to prate about myself and my foolish 
sorrows. I have a favor to ask of you.” 

. “Of me?” 

“ Of you and Sid.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ I want you to come to Delavan Place, and make my 
house your home. Poor Gerty is gone, and 1 will answer 


228 


LOYE AND JEALOUSY. 


that Gwyneth will not offer any objections. 1 shall not be 
in the way— 1 am going back to America for a year, at 
least! And I start to-morrow.’^ 

“ So soon!’’ Ohristabel had started and paled visibly. 

“ Why not? What have I to keep me on this shore of 
the Atlantic? I tell you, Ohristabel, I feel sometimes as if 
I were suffocating to death in this unreal, artificial atmos- 
phere — as if I must drink in the breath of my native 
prairies and leagues of wilderness, or die!” 

He had risen, and was walking impetuously up and 
down the room. Suddenly he stopped before Ohristabel. 

“Will you grant me this favor?” he asked. 

Ohristabel was silent for a moment. The first thought 
was: “ This man knows my poverty, and the shifts to 
which I am constantly reduced to keep soul and body to- 
gether, and this new proposition is but a charitably veiled 
method of dealing out alms!” 

The thought stung her sensitive nature to the quick, 
and the word “ No ” was on her lips, when she chanced to 
glance toward Sidney, sitting pale and silent with his large 
eyes fixed on Oswald’s face, and it came upon her, like a 
revelation, that the boy was pining away under hardships 
hitherto unknown. Her heart gave a sudden throb, and 
then seemed to stand still. 

No — let pride and selfishness be laid on one side. Sid- 
ney Carruthers was her charge, confided to her by his 
mother’s dying lips, and Sidney’s welfare must be her first 
and pre-eminent object. 

“ Would you like it, Sid?” she asked, taking the boy’s 
hand. 

“ WoiilcluH 1?” said Sidney, with brightening eyes, and 
an instinctive squeeze of Christabel’s fingers. 

“ Then we will come!” 

“ God bless you for those words,” said Oswald. “ Come, 
Sid, let me help you pack your things! I want something 
to do. Mine are packed long ago, for the steamer.” 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


229 


And that very afternoon a big “ Lodgin'GS To Let 
card was watered into the second-floor front window of No. 
16 Halidome Villas, and all the comfortless squalor, peel- 
ing stucco, and mildewed wall paper were left behind for- 
ever. As the cab containing their few possessions rolled 
out of the court, Christabel glanced back with a shudder. 

“ What are you thinking about, Chris?’^ asked Sidney, 
who was leaning against her shoulder, with one of her 
hands tightly clasped in his. 

“ I was thinking of all we had endured behind those 
dreary walls,'^ said she. “ Oh, Sid, 1 donT know what 
would ever tempt me to go back to that court again. 

“ Has it been so hard, Chris?^^ he asked, wistfully. 

“Dear Sid, I never knew how hard, until now! But 
donT let us talk of it, dear, it^s over and^past, thank 
God!^^ 

When Christabel Fane and her young ward arrived at 
the house in Delavan Place, they were welcomed by a 
pleasant - faced, silver-haired old lady in black moire 
antique, and creamy frills of Valenciennes lace at the 
throat and wrists. 

“ I see you don’t know me, my dear,” kindly drawing 
the girl toward a chair. “ 1 am Mrs. Brooke, the widow 
of a cousin of your former acquaintance. Lady Justinia. 
My pedigree is longer than my purse,” with a smile and a 
queer little shrug of her shoulders, “and I am very glad 
of the home and the allowance that Mr. Carruthers offers 
me on condition that I undertake to matronize this estab- 
lishment during his absence in America. I know all about 
the sad affair that leaves him a widower, and I know all 
about you, my dear,” with a kiss. “Now let me ring the 
bell for the maid to show you to your room. ” 

Meanwhile Oswald Carruthers had sent for his sister-in- 
law, writing on a card these words: 

“ I want to speak to you. Shall I come to you, or will 
you come to me? 0. C.” 


230 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Gwyueth bit her lips. “ Where is Mr. Carruthers?^^ 
she asked of the man. 

“ In the library, miss.’^ 

“ Tell him I will be with him presently. 

And, a few minutes subsequently, Gwyneth Vivian en- 
tered the library, dressed in black, with jet chains and 
bracelets sparkling at throat and wrists, and a long crape 
train rustling on the carpet behind her. 

“ You wish to speak to me?” she said, with the air of 
repellance and aversion which she had of late manifested 
toward her brother-in-law. 

“ Yes. Christabel and Sidney are here.” 

“Here?” Gwyneth was surprised, and she showed it. 
“ In this house?” 

“ Here, in this house. For the future it is their home 
as much as it is yours. It should never have been other- 
wise! I sent for you, Gwyneth, and tell you this in order 
that you may be prepared to receive my guests with all 
due courtesy and respect!” 

Rebellious words rose to Gwyneth Vivian’s lips, but 
there was something in Oswald’s face that froze them into 
silence ere they were spoken. She bit her lips, and in- 
clined her head coldly. 

“ The house is yours,” said she, “ of course, and — ” 

“ This house is mine,” quietly interposed Oswald. 
“ But my wife’s sister is always sure of a home in it, as 
long as she consults my wishes and demeans herself as a 
true lady would.” 

Gwyneth’s eyes flashed. 

“lam not a little school-girl to be lectured,” said she, 
“ upon manners and proprieties.” 

“ Opinions may differ as to that,” said her brother-in- 
law, quietly. “ One thing I wish distinctly understood — 
that at the very first word or look which may tend to 
annoy either Sidney Carruthers or Christabel Fane, the 
person who speaks or glances it leaves this house within 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


231 


twenty-four hours. Mrs. Brooke has my express directions 
to enforce these commands of mine!^^ 

“ Have your words any reference to me?” questioned 
Miss Vivian, with curling lips and flashing eyes veiled be- 
neath their long white lids. 

The young American looked keenly at her. 

“ 1 donT know that I need say any more,” he re- 
marked, coolly. “ Good-bye, Gwyneth. 1 shall not proba- , 
bly see you again before I start. ” ' 

He held out his hand; Gwyneth once more inclined her 
head, and murmured a few mechanical words, but without 
touching it. He bit his lips. 

‘‘ You think it is the hand of a murderer,” said he, bit- 
terly. Well, I donT know that I can blame you for tak- 
ing your cue from the rest of the world. ” 

And Gwyneth went back to her own room, secretly 
exultant that she had stung Oswald Carruthers to the 
quick. 

But he might have spared his lectures,” she told her- 
self, as she clasped and unclasped the heavy bracelets on 
her arms. think he would if he had been abetter 
judge of human nature. As if 1 were going to run any 
risks of losing a home like this. I shall leave it when I 
marry Kosse Vavasor, and not before.” 

For the rich millionaire, unwontedly melted by the 
affecting sight of Miss Vivian in tears, had so far forgotten 
his aversion to a scene, and his unwillingness to connect 
himself in any way with the public scandal which appeared 
in every newspaper under the heading of The Oar- 
RUTHERS Murder,” as to ask her to be his wife. 
Gwyneth had promptly accepted him, and the wedding 
was to be celebrated when the year of mourning for her 
unfortunate sister had expired. 

Thinking over all these circumstances. Miss Vivian re- 
solved that it would be well for her to keep the peace with 
her half-brother and Christabel Fane, at least until the far 


232 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


more magnificent house of the ex-banker should be opened 
for her reception as its lady mistress and queen. 

“ A year isn't long," said Gwyneth. “ And one must 
study policy in these things. Poor dear Gerty herself 
would have counseled me so, I am sure. I have to dress 
decently, and keep up an appearance in the world, and I 
haven't a cent of money but what Oswald gives me to do 
it with. Yes, I'll go down and make myself agreeable to 
Ohristabel Fane and that cub of a boy!" 

She rang the bell. Sarah, one of the under-house- 
maids, answered it. 

“ Send Florine to me at once," said Miss Vivian. 

“ Please, miss," hesitated Sarah, excited by the news 
she had to communicate, and at the same time uncertain 
as to the spirit in which it might be received, “ Florine is 
gone!" 

“ Gone where?" 

“ Please, miss, we don’t know," answered the girl. 
“ And all her things is gone! And nobody knowed just 
where she went? And please, miss, Mrs. Beckford is awful 
mad, and she sent for Bryan, the policeman, and he's 
worse than Mrs. Beckford is, ma'am, and he says he'll 
never forgive Florine for serving him such a trick!" 

Then Sarah stopped, out of breath. 

“ Very well," said Gwyneth, angrily, “ I shall at once 
engage a new maid. And when Florine Dufour comes to 
beg my pardon, as she probably will do, you need not let 
her in. I will never see nor speak to her again." 

Yes, miss," said Sarah. 

‘‘ And for to-night, Sarah, you may see what you can do 
with my hair." 

“ Yes, miss," said Sarah. 

Meanwhile the culprit, Florine Dufour, was seated in a 
cab, whirling through the streets of London, with her few 
earthly belongings packed in a bandbox, at her feet, and a 
bundle, on the seat beside her, while a rosy color gleamed 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


233 


on her cheeks, and her heart beat fast with mingled excite- 
ment and delight. 

For Florine Diifour was carrying out a scheme which 
had been for some time vaguely forming itself in her fan- 
tastic girl -brain. 

ThreMing its way through the intricacies of the city 
streets, the cab finally drew up at the door of 16 Hali- 
dome Villas. For Florine knew not where else to go, and 
she said sagely to herself: 

“ They will never think of looking for me in Miss 
ChristabeFs old lodgings. No one expects to find birds in 
last yearns nest!^^ 

Mrs. Pandex, the landlady, came courtesying out at the 
sound of cab-wheels. Florine descended, assuming in so 
far as she could an air of dignity. 

“I see you have lodgings to let,^' said she. 

Mrs. Pandex courtesied again. 

“ How much are they?^' fingering a little net purse 
which hung from one of her hands. 

‘‘ Both rooms, miss,^^ communicating with fire and 
light, and attendance is fifteen shillings a week, and — ” 

“ I shall need only one room,^' interrupted Florine. 
“ What is your price for that?^^ 

Is it for yourself, miss?'^ Mrs. Pandex looked sharply 
at the young girl, and her manner somehow lost a little of 
its ingratiating plausibility! 

“ For myself!'^ Florine replied, brusquely. Of course 
I shall expect to pay every week in advance 

Mrs. Pandex’s brow cleared up once more. 

Oh!^^ said she, “ that^s quite satisfactory. And though 
of course Vd rather let the two together. Miss Balls, the 
music mistress, tvas speakin^ to me about one of ’em, and 
p’r’aps I can make some arrangement with her. Please to 
walk in and look at ’em, miss— they’re very airy and de- 
sirable!” 


234 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Oh, yes/' said Floriiie, scarcely looking at them. “ I 
dare say they’ll suit.” 

Mrs. Pandex took a ring of keys out of her pocket, and 
laid it on the table, a round mahogany structure, whose 
warped and discolored top was covered with a black and 
green woolen cloth. 

“ The keys of the cupboard, miss,” said she. Is there 
anything in the way of attendance, just now?” 

‘^Nothing, I thank you.” 

Nothin’ 1 could fetch you to eat or drink? There’s 
a very nice tap of old ale next court, and p’r’aps a steak, 
or a bit of pickled tripe — ” 

And then, for the first time, Florine remembered that 
she had eaten nothing since morning, and was very weak 
and faint. 

‘‘Yes,” said she, “you may bring me a mutton chop 
and a cup'Of tea in about half an hour, if you please.’' 

Mrs. Pandex courtesied again, and waddled down-stairs, 
saying to herself : 

“ I’m mortal glad she ain’t one of the kind as keeps 
bottled ale and bread and cheese in the cupboard, and 
boards themselves on next to nothing. Of all mean, 
skimpy people, deliver me from such!” 

No sooner was she left alone than Florine opened her 
traveling-bag, and took from it a sharp pair of scissors, 
with which she proceeded relentlessly to shear off her beau- 
tiful pale-gold hair, within about two inches of her head 
all around! Then producing a curling-iron and heating it 
in the gas-burner she deftly wove the short locks into little 
frizzy curls and crimps, that stood out around her head 
like an aureole of sunshine. 

“ There,” Florine viewed herself intently in the glass, 
“ that’s better!” 

And when Mrs. Pandex came in with the tea and mut- 
ton chop, a few mimites later, that worthy soul started 
back, 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 235 

“ Bless me!’’ said she, “ who are you? And where’s 
the young lady as engaged the room?” 

Florine made a low inclination of the head, while a 
sparkle of irrepressible mischief lighted up her black-blue 
eyes. 

‘‘At your service, Mrs. Pandex,” said she. 

“ You hain’t been and cut off all your beautiful hair?” 
cried out the landlady in amazement and dismay. 

“Well, I have,” said Florine. “ It was so hot and 
heavy— and I’ve a fancy to wear my hair short.” 

“ Well, I never,” said Mrs. Pandex, “ when there’s such 
a many young ladies in London as would give guineas and 
guineas for a head of hair like that.” 

“lam not one of them, you see,” said Florine, sitting 
down to her frugal and not particularly tempting meal. 

The next day Florine Dufour dressed herself with care 
and attention, curling the yellow glossy locks, and parting 
them coquettishly on one side, putting on a scarlet satin 
jacket, trimmed with gold braid, and a black cotton-velvet 
skirt. Just short enough to display a pair of pretty ankles 
and feet that would not -have disgraced Titania’s self. All 
this fantastic adornment she covered carefully with a black 
serge cloak, and; closely veiled, set off on foot, followed 
from behind the first-floor blinds by Mrs. Pandex’s won- 
dering eyes. 

“ 1 don’t know what on earth to make of that girl,” 
said Mrs. Pandex, shaking her head. “ However, as long 
as she planks down in advance every week, it’s all right 
as far as 1 am concerned. ” 

Florine Dufour went straight to the Italian Opera House, 
and inquired for M. Dardesi. 

“ Might as well put up your veil, miss,” said the call- 
boy, with a grin, “ / know you. Miss What-you-call-’em’s 
maid, as used to come so often with letters and messages 
to the signor!” 


m 


LOVE AND Jealousy. 


“ Don't chatter!" said Florine, haughtily, “ 1 want to 
see Dardesi; is he in?" 

He's in — hut he's studying up a new transformation 
ballet with old Jacquelina! He ain't to be disturbed!" 

“Just let me in, Dick," coaxed Florine, “ and I'll give 
you a shilling." 

“ Can't be did," said Dick, indifferently, putting his 
hands in his pockets. 

“ Two shillings, Dick!" 

“Well," hesitated Dick. “1 dunno, but I can try, 
just to show my good-will!" 

He vanished like a spirit into the damp-smelling regions 
behind the stage and presently returned. 

“ You're to go in," said he, “ straight down that cor- 
ridor, till you come to the big oak-trees, and then turn to 
the left." 

“ Oak-trees?" 

“ Scenery, goose," said Dick, closing his hand on the 
two silver pieces which Florine bestowed upon him. 

“Oh," said the girl, with a .little laugh, “ 1 didn't 
think." 

M. Dardesi, the ballet-master of the Italian opera, was a 
tall, sallow man, with a clean-shaven beard, that looked as 
if his chin was covered with blue dots, a wig of shiny black 
hair, and a yellow complexion. When Florine Dufour en-‘ 
tered his presence he was striding up and down the warm 
and ill- vent dated room, while at a table opposite sat his 
aunt, Jacquelina Higgins, a haggard and wrinkled old 
dame, who had once danced before Napoleon and the as- 
sembled sovereigns at Paris, when she was the terpsich- 
orean artist of that city, a vain, petted child of seven- 
teen, and the French Empire was in its heyday. The 
spring and elasticity had long since gone out of her limbs, 
and the light from her eyes, but she was a great authority 
still, and Dardesi always invoked her aid and assistance 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 237 

when he was in doubt as to a new sensation or a brilliant 
effort after originality. 

“ Eh?^^ said Dardesi, stopping short and looking at the 
slight figure standing near the door. “ What do you 
want?’^ 

“ And who are you?’’ querulously demanded Mrs. Hig- 
gins. 

“lam Bettine Durocque,” promptly answered the girl. 
“ And 1 have heard that Monsieur Dardesi is getting up a 
new ballet, and 1 want to dance in it.” 

“ Have you ever danced for the stage?” 

“ Not for the stage, monsieur, but I know I can do it!” 

Dardesi shrugged his shoulders. 

“ JIo^v do you know?” asked he. 

Elorine smiled. 

“ Monsieur must be aware,” said she, “ that people 
know these things by intuition.” 

Dardesi looked at her a minute, then caught up a violin 
which lay on the table near by and drew his bow across the 
strings to the weird tune of “ The Carnival of Venice.” 

“ Dance!” said he, abruptly; and Florine, flinging 
aside her cloak, sprung into the middle of the floor, and 
began a slow, graceful pas seul to the sweet, sad strains. 

Florine Dufour was young and lissom and passing fair 
to look upon, with her sparkling, black -blue eyes, the rich, 
velvety bloom of her cheeks, and the cloud of floating gold 
around her head, while her 23eculiar style of beauty was 
well set off by the scarlet silk spencer, and the cotton-vel- 
vet skirt, which, in that semi-light, had all the effect of 
the richest fabric of the Lyonese loom. 

“ Good! good!” cried old Jacquelina, keeping time with 
one wrinkled Anger, while her dim and sunken eyes blazed 
into a faint likeness of their old splendor. “ Don’t tell 
me that you are English, child! Those feet and ankles 
never belonged to this bleak and foggy soil!” 


238 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ I was born in Paris, madanie,^' said Florine, half smil- 
ing as the violin ceased, and she paused to take breath. 

Dardesi looked at the old woman. 

‘‘ What shall I do, ma tantef^ said he. 

‘^Do!^' said Jacquelina Higgins, “why, engage her, of 
course. Our old dancers are getting hackneyed. We need 
new ones. Don’t pay her much salary at first,” lowering 
her voice to an accent meant for Dardesi’s ear alone, “ but 
bring her on. She’ll do you credit one of these days. ” 

“ Do you think so?” 

“ I am sure of it.” 

And so Florine Dufour, under her new name of Mile. 
Bettine Durocque, was duly put in training as one of the 
dancers for the grand transformation ballet which was to 
accompany the opening opera of the season, in about a 
month from that time. 

“ A month is not overlong for practice,” said Jacque- 
lina, “ but it’s in you, child, the divine spirit of the dance, 
and it loill come out. ” 

“ I am not afraid,” said Bettine Durocque, radiantly. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

‘‘shall I GO AWAY?” 

“But you must sing. Signor Montini. Your name is 
on all the bills, the advertisements have been out for a 
month, and we’ve lost a deal of money already through this 
confounded illness of yours! Come, signor, the physicians 
say there can be no danger in your going on the stage 
again now, and we’ll bring out ‘ Masaniello ’ as you never 
saw it before.” 

Mr. Hartwick, the Anglo-Israelitish manager of the 
Royal Italian Opera, stood gesticulating before the sofa on 
which Gaspard Montini reclined in a dishabille of crimson 
velvet and ermine, which made him look more handsome 
and corsair-like than ever. He was pale from his recent 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


239 


sWere illness, and his large melting eyes shone with melan- 
ch\>ly brilliance from beneath their perfectly arched brows 
and, long, thick lashes. The room was luxuriously fur- 
nished with crimson draperies, rich inlaid chairs and tables, 
and lugs whose thick pile glowed with the dim, splendid 
colors of Persian looms, while in front of the sofa a spotted 
tiger-skin was spread out, and a fire of anthracite blazed in 
the grate, a fire by no means ungrateful, though the cal- 
endar pointed to May. Tall Chinese vases on either side 
of the chimney-piece were shaped like dragons, and an 
exquisite marble Psyche stood on a pedestal in the window. 
Upon a table drawn close to the sofa was a liqueur stand 
of chased silver and glistening cut glass, and a silver basket 
of grapes and bananas. For Gaspard Montini was an epi- 
cure in all senses of the word, and loved to surround him- 
self with an utmost pile of sensuous luxury. 

Pray waste no more of your eloquence. Hart wick, 
said the primo tenor e, wearily. I shall sing, I suppose. 
At least I may as well do that as anything else! Heaven 
knows I feel Jittle enough like it. 

Hartwick^s Jewish countenance lighted up at the wel- 
come words. 

“My dear fellow,'^ said he, “that sounds something 
like it. And I^m sure you will be pleased with the ballet 
— we have picked up a rare new dancer somewhere, and 
Dardesi and Jacquelina prophesy great things for her. 
And although I don’t profess to be a judge of such mat- 
ters — ” 

“ Oh, confound your ballet and your new dancers,” 
irritably cried out Signor Montini, knitting his black brows 
until they met in one line of jet. “ Can not you leave me 
a little peace and quietude, now that you* have carried your 
point?” 

“ As much as you like,” said Hartwick, with obsequious 
alertness, as he drew on his straw-colored kid gloves, and 
took up a shiny silk hat, as bright and glittering as if it 


240 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


had just come out of the store. “ It^s all right then. 
You will take Masaiiiello on Monday?^^ 

• “ I would take the part of the foul fiend himself, ay, 
and keep it up to the end of the chapter, to get rid of 
you,^’ snarled Montini. 

Hartwick went away, laughing and showing his white 
teeth in the blithest of smiles. As long as he could coin 
golden guineas out of the voice which now hurled oppro- 
brious epithets at him, he cared little for these cruel indig- 
nities. 

And Gaspard Montini, left alone once more, fell heavily 
back among the crimson satin sofa cushions, with a sigh 
which was almost a groan. 

To the primo tenore life had resolved itself into a dreary 
plane of monotony which seemed absolutely unendurable. 
Conscience he had none. Like many other Italians he set- 
tled the problem of existence to suit himself, and would 
have taken a human life with as much indifference as a 
sportsman bags a grouse. The fact that he had stained 
his slender fingers with the crime of murder did not in the 
least disturb his equanimity. He believed that he killed 
Gwyneth Vivian — but he had also awakened to the fact that 
he had not at the same time stricken out of existence the 
passionate longing, the unreasoning love which had been 
woven about the girl in his heart. 

“ My God!’^ he would cry out at times, in the insup- 
portable silence of his own room, “ is she to haunt me 
dead as well as living? Must I murder myself, too, be- 
fore I can deaden this dull pain — this sick agony of long- 
ing?^’ 

Gaspard Montini, it must be borne in mind, was a 
stranger in a strange land — a man who never glanced at a 
newspaper, save in the language of his own country, and 
who rarely, if ever, conversed with those around him, on 
any topic. So it had come to pass that he never knew 
that it was Oswald Oarruthers’s wife who lay buried and 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


241 


shrouded, while Gwyneth Vivian, the fair and false en- 
chantress, who had lured him on to desperation, was in- 
wardly and most fervently congratulating herself that she 
was at last rid of the lover whose attentions had made her 
tremble, even while she dared not refuse them? For ten 
days he had lain ill and semi-delirious, in an acute attack 
of brain congestion, and when at last he came back to the 
world of reality and actual presence, the brief scandal of 
the ‘‘ Delavan Square Murder, as the newspapers termed 
it, was overpast, and some new sensation had taken posses- 
sion of the public mind. And now, weighed down by the 
haunting conviction that his own hand had dealt death to 
the creature he loved best in all the world, he was to be 
compelled once more to enter the every-day scenes of life 
and go about his business as if no viper of remorse was 
secretly gnawing at his vitals! 

But time stands still for no one, and the evening for the 
reopening of the Italian Opera arrived at last. Fearful 
that his great card might fail him at the eleventh hour, 
Mr. Aaron Hartwick had sent his own private carriage for 
Signor Montini, and the two gentlemen were standing be- 
hind the scenes, the latter in the becoming costume of the 
Italian rebel, the former in fine broadcloth and snowy 
linen. 

“ I hope you find yourself in good voice, said Hart- 
wick, earnestly. 

“ I suppose I am. I have not thought about it,^’ re- 
turned Montini, indifferently. 

“ Come,^^ thought Hartwick, “ I must rouse him up a 
little, or he will never infuse proper spirit into his acting 
and singing to-night. Montini, he said aloud, ‘‘ they 
are striking up, the bell is ringing for the curtain to rise, 
and the ballet is coming on. J ust step here, to the left, 
and look at them.^^ 

Montini shrugged his shoulders impatiently. What 
care I for your ballet?"" said he. 


242 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ But it is really very fine/^ urged Hartwick. “ 1 flat- 
ter myself Fve got up something quite out of the ordinary 
run this time.^^ 

And rather than take the trouble to contest the point 
any further, Montini moved languidly toward that par- 
ticular locality in the wings to which Hartwick was leading 
him, and which commanded a good view of the green baize 
wilderness of the stage, with its glittering boundary of 
foot-lights. 

Even as he moved a pair of cymbals struck up in a wild, 
monotonous manner, and Mile. Bettine Durocque pirou- 
etted upon the stage in floating silver-green skirts, all 
crystal drops and spangles, her gold hair surrounding her 
piquant face like a crown, and her deep-blue eyes spark- 
ling with excitement, while from either hand she seemed 
to fling showers of crystal drops, now on one side and then 
on the other, while, followed by a group of nymphs, she 
bounded in and out, and around a superb artificial rain- 
bow, whose semi-arch seemed to inclose the whole scenery. 

Montini was a true artist at soul. His eyes lightened 
into momentary interest at sight of a good idea well car- 
ried out. 

“Ah! I comprehend!’^ said he. “ The Rain!” 

“ Exactly,” cried Hartwick, rubbing the palms of his 
straw-colored gloves together. “ The Rain Ballet, and a 
pretty penny it has cost me in accessories and costumes, 
let me tell you, but I don’t regret it, so long as the public 
is pleased, and there can be no doubt about that, I should 
think,” rubbing his hands still more briskly, as round 
after round of applause rose from the crowded auditorium. 

“ Well done, little Durocque, you’ve made a hit!” 

“Durocque, did you say?” Montini made a step or two 
forward, as if recognizing something in the face or figure 
of the gliding danseuse as she whirled past him, flinging 
her glittering crystals high in the air. At the same second 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


243 


the girl’s electric black-blue eyes shone on him with sud- 
den subdued fire for a second, and then she was gone. 

‘‘ 1 am recognized!” she cried out, flinging herself pant- 
ing and breathless on the worn horsehair sofa in the faded 
little dressing-room behind the scenes. “ He knows 
me!” 

And Bet tine Duroeque thought not of the applause with 
which she had been greeted — the brilliant success which 
had crowned her debut. She only knew that she had been 
face to face with Gaspard Montini, the idol of her girlish 
heart. 

“ He thinks he has shot Miss Vivian to death,” Bettiue 
told herself. “ I have no longer any rival but a memory 
— a half-forgotten dream! Courage, courage, little Bet- 
tine. You shall win him yet!” 

She was standing in one of the flies waiting for her turn 
to go on again, when Gaspard Montini came off the stage 
after a solo, which had received unbounded plaudits. He 
walked straight to her, and took her little hand in his. 

“ Florine,” said he (and how wondrously the word 
thrilled through all her veins and pulses), “ what means 
this?” 

She looked up at him, beautiful with a new beauty, her 
cheeks softly burning, her rose lips apart, while the deep 
sapphires of her eyes seemed to glow like holy altar fires. 

“ Signor Montini,” she whispered, hanging down her 
head beneath the questioning earnestness of his eyes, “ 1 
came here because yoio were here. I must be near you, or 
I shall die!” 

“Is it so bad as that with you, poor child?” Montini 
spoke without a particle of egotism. For the moment he 
had forgotten all but that Florine was a lovely child, him- 
self a broken-hearted, objectless man, and his heart seemed 
temporarily softened by her frank faithfulness. 

“ You will not scold me, signor?” 

“ Scold you, child? No. What should I scold you for? 


244 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


There— the bell rings— run quick, for your shining drops 
of rain! Would to God each one of them were a magic 
tear to wash away my heart’s grief,” he muttered between 
his teeth as the girl sprung away. “ I always mistrusted 
that the little sprite liked me, when she used to go and 
come with letters and notes, but I did not think she cared 
for me like this. And how lovely she has grown! Well, 
she is not the rose, but she has been near the rose. Per- 
haps that is better than nothing!” 

And he walked slowly away. 

The evening was a brilliant success, both in regard to 
opera and ballet. Mr. Aaron Hartwick was almost beside 
himself with glee, and Dardesi, the ballet-master, grinned 
sardonically to old Jacquelina, who hovered like an anti- 
quated witch about the flies. 

“ Didn’t I tell you?” said he. 

“ Didn’t 1 tell you f” retorted the old dame. But 
while subs, principals, managers, and newspaper reporters 
were comparing notes behind the scenes, Plorine Dufour, 
still all green and crystal like some radiant water-nymph 
risen out of a dripping forest pool, lingered just outside the 
painted woods until Gaspard Montini issued from his dress- 
ing-room, wrapped in a sable cloak, and looking inexpress- 
ibly mournful and handsome. 

“ Little Plorine,” he said again, half smiling, as he met 
her watchful gaze. 

“ Shall I go away. Signor Montini?” she asked, in a 
voice that trembled a little, although she strove resolutely 
to steady it. 

“ From where?” 

“ From here, signor. From near you.” 

He hesitated a moment, then he answered hurriedly: 

“No, little one, no.” 

And Florine hastened away before he could speak an- 
other word. Springing into her dressing-room, she flung 
off the gaudy trappings of the Rain Sprite, and hurriedly 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


245 


assumed the sober gray costume in which she traveled to 
and from the opera house to Halidome Villas, under the 
escort of Mrs. Pandex^s house-maid. 

“ I am ready, Polly, said she, emerging into the misty 
shadows of the street, outside the stage door. 

“ Oh, miss, wasn^t it splendid, just!^^ said Polly, who 
from a safe corner behind the scenes had witnessed the 
last figure of the ballet. “ And ain^t you just lovely in 
them green skirts and spangles! But you^-e trembling, 
miss, all over, and your voice sounds as if youM been cry- 
ing. 

“Nonsense, Polly,^’ cried Mile. Bettine Durocque, 
briskly, “ I crying? Why, I never was half so happy in 
my life!^^ 

And she danced and skipped around, pulling honest 
Polly after her, and causing that unimaginative damsel to 
wonder aloud, “ if Miss Betty Durock had gone clean out 
of her wits, with the music, and the lights and all. 

Once in her own room, she threw off her cloak, and go- 
ing straight to the mirror, looked radiantly into the radi- 
ant eyes of her own reflection there. 

“ Little Florine,^^ she accosted herself aloud. “ Bettine 
Durocque, whatever you choose to call yourself, you have 
conquered! Happy, happy child! he does not hate you — 
he does not shrink from you! and he will surely learn to 
love you at last!^^ 


CHAPTER XXV. 

WAS IT A GHOST? 

Very few strangers in London are aware that there was 
a Land or Street. It was an odd little passage-way, open- 
ing out of one great thoroughfare and leading into another 
— a narrow, quiet, sleepy sort of street, whose clumsy red- 
brick houses seldom manifested any signs of life, and be- 
tween the stones of whose pavement grass grew in sickly 


24:6 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


fringes, and here and there a stray dandelion blossomed 
out like a drop of downy gold. 

The third house in Landor Street, after having stood 
vacant for nearly a year, had recently arrived at the 
dignity of tenants. 

“ A pack of bachelors, said old Mrs. Linsey, who lived 
opposite, “ with one snuffy laundress to do for ^em, and 
meals fetched in from the eatin^ house on Aubrey House 
Square. Lawyers, most likely, or may be editors. I donT 
see as them is any better than no neighbors at all. 

But the wisest of us are liable to misapprehension, and 
Mrs. Linsey was totally mistaken as to the trade and 
avocation of the two gentlemen who had leased the big 
vacant house on the opposite side of the street. No. 6 
was neither more nor less than a private detective bureau, 
and the managers were Joseph Brunei and Derwent Bryan. 
For “A 67 ’’ was no longer an ornament of the police 
force of the metropolis. He himself said that he had re- 
signed. His enemies — for every policeman can number 
plenty of these ill-disposed gentry — declared that he had 
been dismissed after that ugly business of the Carruthers 
murder in Delavan Place. However that might have 
been^ Mr. Bryan had set up in quite a different business 
with one Joseph Brunei, a white-haired, owlish-looking 
man, who was never content unless he had some mystery 
or other to ferret out, or was dogging the steps of some 
unconscious object of suspicion, as closely and noiselessly 
as his shadow. 

“ It ainT altogether that I like the business, Bryan 
had explained to a friend, “ although I always had a sort 
of knack for it, and Brunei is the best partner a man could 
have if he ransacked all England for one. And I douH 
deny but what it pays as a business. But profits isnT the 
only thing in this world. And then,^ one or two little 
things that have puzzled me this long time — things Pve 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


247 

set myself to find out, and the detective bureau is a good 
place to hail from. ” 

For Derwent Bryan had always dissented in his secret 
heart from the popular verdict against Oswald Carruthers 
in the half -forgot ten murder case. 

“He never shot his wife/’ said Bryan to himself. 
“ I’m not ready yet to put my finger on the person who 
did, but Tie didn’t; of that I’m certain. And I mean to 
lay hands on the murderer yet, if I live long enough. 
There’s a reward offered. I’ve no objection to the re- 
ward, but the main thing is to satisfy my self, 

That was one of the enigmas which Derwent Bryan had 
set himself resolutely to solve. The other was the where- 
abouts of Florine Dufour. For Bryan had a true and 
faithful heart, and he had loved Florine too well and con- 
stantly to give her up even now. 

“She liked me once,” he said to himself, “and she 
shall like me again. I’ll never give up trying for it as 
long as we are both alive.” 

Joseph Brunei was out this morning, and Mr. Bryan 
represented the firm, seated on a high stool back of a 
baize-covered desk, which two articles, by the way, con- 
stituted most of the furniture in the room. Buff holland 
shades covered the windows, a huge iron safe was let into 
the wall, and a fire burned in the grate—a fire that sput- 
tered and sulked as if it sympathized with the foggy and 
murky atmosphere outside. But the lack of cheerfulness 
in the apartment did not seem in the least to affect the 
spirits of the ex-policeman, who sat thoughtfully trim- 
ming his nails with a penknife, looking up now and again 
as some one entered with notes, messages, or personal com- 
munications. Of some Mr. Bryan made memoranda in a 
big volume that lay open on the desk, with a padlock in 
its clasp; others he listened to without comment, appar- 
ently stowing them away in some of the secret chambers of 
his brain for future reference; and, upon the receipt of yet 


248 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


others, he rummaged in the pigeon-holes of his desk for 
letters, manuscripts or notes, with which he diligently and 
briefly compared them. As the last of these emissaries de- 
parted, a slender, wiry little man, in a light overcoat and a 
pale-blue satin neck- tie, sauntered in. 

“ Well, Ditchley,” said Bryan, locking the big book and 
pushing it away so as to leave free room for his two elbows 
on the desk, “ and where have you been spending the 
mornings of your existence lately 

“ I^m a-cultivatin^ my musical tastes,^’ observed Ditch- 
ley, giving the fire a poke. 

“ Easy there, mildly checked Bryan; “ coals are gone 
up. Well, and how’s the musical world?'’ 

“ The opera ha^opened; 1 dropped in last night. Good 
house and good singing; and a new ballet with Made- 
moiselle Bettine Durocque, from Paris, in the first part. 
The boys were selling her photographs; 1 bought one. I 
always was a dabster at the fine arts." 

“ Let me see it," said Derwent Bryan, who had never 
once in all this colloquy taken his eyes ofi the man's face, 
for he knew Ditchley well, and he was aware that Ditch- 
ley never spoke in vain. 

The wiry little man took a card photograph from his 
pocket, and laid it on the desk. Bryan's eyes flashed into 
sudden recognition; he sprung involuntarily up. Ditch- 
ley watched him with observant eyes. 

“ Is it the one?" said he. 

“ It's the one," assented Bryan. 

“I thought likely it might be," said Ditchley, quietly 
tapping the toe of his boot against the hearth. “ She’s 
nice to look at." 

“ The sweetest face in all the world," said Bryan, im- 
pulsively. 

“ Oho!" thought the sub-detective, ‘‘ sets the wind in 
that direction?" But he only coughed behind his hand, 
and said nothing. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


m 

“ She’s had her hair cut off/’ muttered Bryan to him- 
self, as he intently studied the sun-picture, “ and she’s 
older by nigh a year; but 1 should know her eyes and her 
smiles, and her little piquant nose if I was to meet her in 
the bush at Caffraria. So she’s taken to the stage, has 
she? To — the— stage! She is dancing noiuf” suddenly 
turning to Ditchley. 

“ Every night.” 

“ Good; I’ll be there to see her.” 

All right, sir. Any new orders in that Seymour busi- 
ness?” 

“No.” 

“ Anything been heard from Mount Leon?” 

“No.” 

Ditchley turned and went out as quietly as he had come 
in, and Bryan stood before the fire, staring into its depths, 
while his heart beat loud and strong, and a deep fiush 
burned upon his forehead. 

“ So,” he said to himself, “ I’ve found her at last. My 
Florine, my little love, my heart’s treasure!” 

At that instant a long-bearded Jew came in, full of busi- 
ness, in which he required the cool head and acute percep- 
tion of the detective, and Derwent Bryan, turning around 
from the fire, became himself again, hard, keen, and de- 
liberate, as if no such person as Florine Dufour had ever 
existed. 

♦ ♦ 4s * * 4s 

“ Come, Polly!” said Mile. Durocque, imperiously, 
“ are you ready?” 

“ All ready, miss,” said apple-cheeked Polly, emerging 
from an inner apartment in the house at Halidome Villas. 
“ And the cab’s been a-waitin’ this five minutes.” 

Things had improved, pecuniarily speaking, with Mile. 
Bettine Durocque. She no longer trudged to and from the 
opera on foot, but jobbed a cab at so much per week, and 
took honest Polly with her in the capacity of maid, while a 


250 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


girl from the neighboring work-house executed the bidding 
of Mrs. Pandex in the underground domain of kitchen 
and laundry. 

“ Lawk, miss, but you does look splendid, to be sure!"” 
said Polly, as she extiuguished the luster of her young mis- 
tresses pearl silk and Roman braids under a comfortable 
fur-lined cloak. 

“ Polly, ee said Florine, abruptly, as they rolled away on 
the stones, “ how would you like to go to Italy 

“ To — which, misspee 

Polly was not quite certain that she had heard aright. 

“ To Italy. Across the ocean, you know. To Flor- 
ence 

“ I should be afeared, miss,^^ said downright Polly. “ I 
never did like the sea. 

“ Then I shall have to provide myself with another 
maid, Polly, said Mile. Durocque, quietly. “For I am 
going next week.'^ 

“ You, missP^^ Polly’s mouth and eyes opened in uni- 
son. 

“ I, Polly!” and Florine laughed softly, the murmur- 
ous rippling laugh to which heart and lips keep chorus. 

“ But, miss — ” 

“ Hold your tongue, Polly. Can you keep a secret P” 

“ In course I can, miss!” promptly responded the girl. 

“ We are to be married next week. Signor Montini and 
I, and he is to take me to his native shores. Oh, Polly, 
Polly, you don’t know how happy lam!” 

“But, miss, you’re a-cryiu’!” as a big warm drop 
plashed down on the maid’s hand. 

“ That’s because I’m so happy, Polly!” And poor lit- 
tle Florine, who had no human being to confide in, drooped 
her head on Polly’s shoulder and cried again. 

“Don’t, miss,” said Polly, herself beginning sympa- 
thetically to blubber. “ I know I shouldn’t cry, if me 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


351 


and the grocer's young man had hit it off together. And 
your eyes will be as red as hollyhocks, and—" 

“ No, they won't," said FJorine. “ Yes, we arc really 
to be married, Polly, and you mustn’t breathe a word of 
it to any living soul." 

“ No, miss, I won't," protested Polly, stroking her mis- 
tress's little hand in hers. 

“ Signor Montini's engagement," somehow she never 
spoke of him as “ Gaspard " to any one save when she ad- 
dressed himself, “ expires next week. For mine 1 do not 
care. And he says he pines for the blue skies and orange 
groves of his own Florence. So we are going! And — but 
I declare, here we are." 

The cab paused at the stage door of the opera house, 
the young girl hurried in, followed by the bewildered 
Polly, and feeling somewhat relieved since she had told 
her secret to a sympathizing listener. 

‘‘ I don't think Montini would have been pleased," she 
thought, “but I must speak to some one, and Polly is as 
faithful as the day! And, oh, I am so happy!" 

The house was crowded that night. Signor Montini had 
been more than ever a popular favorite of late, and now 
that his engagement was drawing to a close, the musical 
world flocked to hear him, as if he had been a Wachtel or 
a Mario. The bright-eyed little danseuse, too, had made 
a success, and was warmly applauded as she ran on to the 
stage, striking a pretty attitude at the head of her gauzy 
glittering troupe. The ballet was a sort of prelude on this 
particular evening, and the floating nymphs were to range 
themselves in the background when the handsome tenor 
should come warbling in, clad in the dress of an ancient 
troubadour with his mandolin upon his breast. And of all 
the packed house, no eyes watched the graceful little 
dancer with such an intent gaze as those of a tall, squarely 
built man in the topmost gallery — Derwent Bryan's self! 

As Mile. Bettine Durocque knelt under an arch of roses. 


252 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


with all her light troupe attitudinizing around her, there 
was the rustle of an arrival in one of the private boxes 
nearest the stage, and an elegantly dressed party disposed 
themselves amid the velvet sofas and chairs. The pre- 
miere danseiise glanced up without moving her head, and 
her cheek grew deathly pale under its artificial bloom, as 
she recognized in the lady whose gloved hand rested on the 
edge of the box, her former mistress, Gwyneth Vivian — 
Gwyneth Vivian herself, in lilac silk and pearls, with a 
white water-lily in her brown tresses, and Mr. Vavasor 
bending devotedly over her, while at the left sat Miss 
Kegina Vavasor yawning behind the ivory sticks of a white 
lace fan. 

And then it flashed on Florine^s memoiy that it was a 
year this night since the death of Oswald Carruthers^s ill- 
starred wife. A year — just a year! 

Her lips turned pale, her limbs quivered beneath her, in 
the constrained attitude from which she dared not move 
unless the triumphal peal of the orchestra should give the 
signal. A chill agony of terror came over her as she 
shrunk from recognition, and recollected that in another 
instant Gaspard Montini would come on the stage face to 
face with the woman whom he believed to be lying low in 
a bloody grave! Could she by any possibility escape from 
the stage in time to invent some excuse to keep him back? 
Could she warn him — could she — 

Crash! sounded the blithe tumult of ophicleide, bass- 
drum, and silver horn. Mile. Durocque sprung to her 
feet, and glided backward with the rocking, dreamy move- 
ment of the halladine, and, as she did so, Gaspard Montini 
advanced, pale and handsome, with his dress of dark-blue 
velvet corded with gold, and the mandolin upon his breast. 
Clear, and full, and mellow, like a stream of silver his de- 
licious tenor voice soared above the accompaniment of the 
orchestra, until, chancing to glance in the direction of the 
private boxes, the notes died away on his white lips, the 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


253 


mandolin fell to the floor, and a shriek broke from his lips 
— such a shriek as seemed to tear its way up from the very 
depths of his heart; and, believing that he saw the ghost 
of a murdered woman, Gaspard Montini flung up his hands 
and fell senseless on the stage. 

There was a puzzled hush for a second or two among the 
audience, who scarcely knew whether or not the tragic 
scene was on the bills as a part of the regular performance, 
and then the great green curtain descended in the middle 
of a scene. 

Old Dardesi and Hartwick, the manager, issued hurried 
and contradictory orders in a confusion. 

“ Bring on the ballet again roared the manager. 

“ Let the prima-donna sing that aria,^^ bawled Dardesi. 
“ Monsieur will see that we must gain time.^’ 

The audience must not be trifled with,^^ said Hart- 
wick. 

“ Give ^em the aria and the ballet both,^^ suggested 
Mme. Bartiglia. “ There — they\e carried him off; he’ll 
be better in a minute or two. ITl sing; and do you, Dar- 
desi, send on the girls to make a background; we can not 
exist without effect. ” 

The curtain rose again. The manager, with a white 
kid-gloved hand upon his heart, begged the momentary 
indulgence of the audience for Signor Montini’s brief in- 
disposition ; and Mme. Bartiglia smiled and courtesied her- 
self upon the scene, with a whirlwind of young girls glid- 
ing about and around her, while Florine, pale and 
trembling, knelt alone by Montini’s side in a dreary, 
vacant space between the scenery and the dressing-rooms. 

Derwent Bryan left his seat, and quietly descended the 
stairs, making his way out by a side*door, with whose loca- 
tion he had been well acquainted during his day as A 
67, to the back of the stage. And Miss Vivian, very 
pale herself, held a gold smelling-bottle to her nose, while 
Mr. Vavasor watched her with grave, inquiring eyes. 


254 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Gwyneth/^ said he, “I would never have brought you 
here, if I had known who the tenor was!’^ 

“ Oh, don^t mind me, pray,"^ said Gwyneth, striving to 
speak unconcernedly. “ It was the heat, and the — the 
sudden shock of seeing the poor man fall!^’ 

“ You are quite sure you don’t care for him, Gwyneth?” 
“Care for him,” Miss Vivian laughed lightly. “I 
never cared for him! There, isn’t that the Bartiglia? 
How fat she has grown! But, oh! her voice is as delicious 
as ever!” 

And the lurking demon of jealousy in Kosse Vavasor’s 
heart was temporarily laid at rest. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

PORTLAND ALLEYS. 

It was but for a minute or two that Gaspard Montini 
lay in the terrible insensibility that seemed like death to 
Florine. In vain she looked around for help, as she knelt 
on the bare board floor, with Montini’s heavy head sup- 
ported on her arm — the panic of the manager had grouped 
the entire company on and around the stage, and the at- 
tendants, suspecting no mishap, were in the distant green- 
room. 

“Gaspard, oh, Gaspard!” she wailed, “speak to me! 
Only tell me that you are still alive!” 

As she uttered the words, a noiseless step came up be- 
hind her, and Derwent Bryan stood like a shadow in the 
angle of a pile of unused scenery — stood there, mutely 
biding his time. 

A shuddering breath seemed to convulse the man’s 
breast; he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling 
overhead. 

“ Thank God! Oh, thank God!” cried Florine. “ Dear 
Gaspard, you are better! Speak to me! only one word!” 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


255 


And still Derwent Bryan stood there, every syllable of 
the girBs glad voice piercing him like a knife. 

‘‘ Yes,^’ Montini said, slowly, ‘‘it is her ghost! I shot 
her down! I killed her! And now she will haunt me for 
evermore! — her ghost! Tell me,^^ turning his head to 
Florine, and holding up a white, quivering hand, “ do you 
see blood on my fingers? Because, with a hoarse rattle 
in his voice, “ I murdered her just a year ago to-night !^^ 

Derwent Bryan stepped out into the flickering light of 
the one gas-burner, which only seemed to make darkness 
more visible in the solitary spot. Florine, not recognizing 
him, gave a little cry of welcome. 

“ Terry, is it you,’^ she exclaimed. “ Go for help; call 
a doctor at once! DonT you see that Signor Montiiii is 
dying?"" 

“No such good luck as that,"" said Bryan, bitterly. 
Florine started and grew pale. 

“Derwent!"’ 

“ Yes, Derwent, the man you have deceived, deserted, 
flung away like a cast-off garment. But your destiny has 
overtaken you at last. I arrest this man here for the mur- 
der of Mrs. Oswald Oarruthers. "" 

Montini looked helplessly up into Bryan’s stern face. 
Evidently he heard and comprehended nothing of what 
was going forward; the glaze of insensibility was once more 
coming over his eyes, his head weighed heavier than ever 
on Florine’s arm. 

“ Derwent,” she gasped, “ have mercy upon us! Have 
mercy upon 

“ When the huntsman has mercy upon the savage 
wolf,” uttered Bryan, slowly, “ and not before.” 

He strode to the side of the wings to secure help, but no 
one was visible. Hurriedly computing his time, he decided 
that he could make his way up to the gallery and quietly 
s-ummon a chance acquaintance who had been sitting there 
with him to his aid, without making any unnecessary sen- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


256 

sation. Monfciui was safe enough until he should return, 
and it was probable too that Florine would not leave him. 

Florine gazed wildly after his retreating footsteps as he 
vanished. Poor girl! She could understand now how a 
snared wild animal feels in the toils of the hunter. 

‘^Gasprad/'’ she whispered, huskily, “ Gaspard, rouse 
yourself! It is for your life!^^ 

But not even a quiver of the eyelashes betrayed that the 
insensible man heard or comprehended a syllable that she 
had spoken. 

To the excited girl every second seemed an age. Mat- 
ters were getting desperate. Springing to her feet, she 
put her hands, all cold and trembling as they were, under 
the shoulders of her unconscious companion, and with a 
strength of which she could never have believed herself 
capable, dragged him by main force into a dark and nar- 
row corridor, which led to a door seldom used, which 
opened into the street. Flying along this passage-way she 
turned the inner key, and opened the door. 

Just outside stood the carriage of Mme. Bartiglia, the 
prima-donna, with the coachman dozing on the box. 
Florine had seen the soprano enter it once or twice, and 
knew the man by name. 

“ Hugh!’^ she said, in a low tone. 

“ Madame !^^ J^he man started up with an effort to ap- 
pear supernaturally wide awake. 

‘‘I have a sick friend here. Quick! open the carriage 
door, and help me lift him in. 

Hugh was one of those well-trained servants who are as- 
tonished at nothing. Slipping off his box, he followed the 
lady in the fur-lined cloak, whom he believed to be his 
mistress, into the dark corridor, lifted the senseless form, 
and with Florine^s aid carried it down the steps and placed 
it in the carriage. 

“ Stop a minute,” she breathed, in a whisper, and hur- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


257 


Tying back, she locked the outside door, and placed the 
key in her pocket. 

“ Now drive to Portland Alleys; for your life drive 
quickly 

And Hugh, scrambling to his box, lost no time in put- 
ting her commands into execution. 

Portland Alleys, a dim and dismal conglomeration of 
narrow streets and courts, lay far to the eastward of the 
elegant opera house, and when they were safe in its tangled 
labyrinths, Florine pulled the check-string opposite a deso- 
late archway. 

“ Stop here!’^ 

“ Here, madame?'^ 

“ Here, I say!^^ 

Once more Gaspard Montini was lifted out, and now be- 
ginning to recover, was set up like the murdered man in 
the “ Arabian Nights,^^ leaning his head against the mil- 
dewed and mossy bricks. 

“ Now,^^ said Florine, in an authoritative whisper, 

‘ ‘ drive back as soon as you can, and mention this to no 
one! If you are questioned, you have only been driving 
around the square. 

As she spoke, she slipped a five-pound note into the 
driver^s hands. He bowed, mounted his seat, and drove 
back again. 

Meanwhile, Derwent Bryan, returning with his friend, 
was astonished at perceiving the dim antechamber solitary 
and deserted. 

They must be hiding somewhere, he muttered be- 
tween his teeth. ‘'They never can have got away with- 
out help — an insensible man and a slender girl! and no 
help has been near them, for I have never once taken my 
eyes oil that side door.^’ 

But all search proved fruitless. The birds were flown, 
and Derwent could only exclaim, angry and baffled: 

9 


258 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


“There must be witchcraft somewhere in the air; but 
I’ll track ’em out yet, never fear!” 

And by a strong effort of the will that seldom allowed 
itself to be conquered, he said no more, but accepted tem- 
porary defeat with as much philosophy as might be. 

“ Secrecy is quite as important to me as it is to Mrs. 
Oswald Carruthers’s murderer,” he said to himself, “ and 
now that 1 have got a clew, I am pretty sure of my prey. 
Though what spite he had against her, poor lady, it’s diffi- 
cult to say. ” 

Five minutes afterward, Hugh, the coachman, was nearly 
startled out of his wits by the unexpected apparition of his 
lady, in the long white satin of some Italian heroine or 
other, and a pale-blue cashmere opera-cloak thrown over 
her shoulders. 

“ Drive home quickly, Hugh,” said she; “I’m tired to 
death, and I want my supper.” 

The man stared. To him it appeared absolutely im- 
possible that his mistress could already have found her way 
back from Portland Alleys. 

“ How is he now, madame?” he ventured to ask. 

“ How is who?” 

“ The sick man.” 

“Hugh,” cried Mme. Bartiglia, sharply, “what are 
you talking about? Have you been drinking?” 

Hugh said no more. It was quite plain, he thought, 
that his mistress wished the little adventure to remain a 
profound secret. Well, so let it be. He had been roundly 
paid, and could afford to be silent. 

While poor Polly and the cab waited long in vain for 
Mile. Durocque. 

“ Please, sir,” said Polly at last, to a respectable-look- 
ing man, who still lingered at the stage door after every 
one else seemed to have taken their departure, and the 
clock in St. George’s tower close by told midnight with a 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


259 


succession of heavy strokes, “ can you tell me if Made- 
moiselle Durocque is in there yet?’^ 

“ Mademoiselle Durocque? -No,^^ said Mr. Derwent 
Bryan, stepping up to the cab with an appearance of the 
intensest interest; “ she^s gone. You are— 

“ I am her maid. No. 16 Halidome Villas, name of 
Polly Edgings,'^ cried out the girl, wringing her hands, 
“ and she'll be that angry as I sha'n't have no chance of 
keeping my place. 

“ Don^t fret,^^ soothed Mr. Bryan. “ Perhaps she 
walked home. ” 

And in the overflowing benevolence of his nature, he 
actually volunteered to accompany Miss Polly Edgings 
back ‘to Halidome Villas, and help her ascertain that fact. 

But no Mile. Durocque had made her appearance at 
Halidome Villas. Mrs. Pandex marveled greatly, and 
suggested elopements, kidnappings, and all that sort of 
thing. Polly cried and wrung her hands, and Mr. Bryan 
went away, carefully posting a sentinel on the next corner 
to watch the door of No. 16 before he slept that night. 

But he might have spared himself the trouble. Florine 
Dufour was by far too wise in her generation to come back 
to the nest in Halidome Villas. 

Portland Alleys, labyrinthine and maze-like as it might 
appear to the undisciplined eye, was familiar ground to 
Florine Dufour. Years ago, when she was a slender slip 
of a girl, with tangled yellow locks and big eyes, hanging 
on to the tattered skirts of Mother Benoit^s red camlet 
cloak, they had lived for three months in the very heart of 
Portland Alleys, and now her recollection of the placed 
stood her in good stead. 

Before the big bells that had struck such consternation 
into poor Polly's honest heart had sounded, she and Mon- 
tini were established in third-rate lodgings — the denizens 
of Portland Alley were not unaccustomed to transacting 
their business at unearthly hours of the day or night — and 


260 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


she had explained to the staring landlady that the gentle- 
man was her brother, suddenly taken ill on the eve of their 
departure for the Continent. 

The landlady did not believe her, but then it made no 
difference to her as long as she had received a week^s rent 
in advance, whether the blue-eyed young lady in the fur- 
lined cloak spoke truth or not. Portland Alleys, as an at- 
mosphere, was not particularly favorable to truth, and, 
after all, it mattered very little one way or the other. 

Florine sat at Gaspard^s side all night long, watching 
his heavy sleep. And when the morning broke, cool and 
windy and gray, she wrapped the cloak around her, and 
stole out to the nearest slop shop to procure a few ready- 
made articles which might be worn in exchange for the 
suit of black velvet and blue satin which ill became Signor 
Gaspard Montini^s present circumstances, and the pearl 
silk and spangles of her own ballet dress. 

She looked despondingly at her fast dwindling store of 
money when she had paid for these articles, and made a 
sort of rough calculation how long, with the aid of the 
most pinching economy, it might be made to last. Ap- 
parently the result of the mathematical operation was not 
satisfactory, for poor Florine shook her head, and sighed 
deeply as she sped homeward along the narrow and slushy 
street. 

Montini was awake and leaning his head on his hands 
when she once more entered. 

“ Where am I?” he asked, moodily. “ And what mas- 
querading folly is this?^^ 

“ The name of the place is Portland Alleys,"" Florine 
answered, gently. 

“ And how came 1 hither?"" 

“ Don"t you remember, dear? Last night?"" She 
watched him eagerly as she spoke, half fearful of the con- 
sequences of her words. He sunk back on the rude sofa 
with a low groan. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


261 


Eemember?’^ he groaned. “ Shall I ever forget it? 
Oh, me, oh, me! Florine, let me go! Reach me my 
hatr^ 

“ Go whither, Gaspard?’"’ Involuntarily she flung her- 
self between him and the door. 

“I don^t care where! — anywhere away from If I 
look upon it again, 1 shall drop dead!^’ 

“ Gaspard, it was a dream — only a dream !^’ she said, 
soothingly. 

He flashed a furtive glance of sullen anger at her. 

You are deceiving me! Every one is deceiving me!’’ 
he exclaimed. “ Give me my hat, I say; let me go!” 

“ Gaspard, you n>ust not,” said Florine, firmly. List- 
en to me, love! you are weak, you are ill. Only wait a 
little!” 

“Lies!” he ejaculated, angrily, “more lies! I am as 
well and strong as you are!” 

“But listen, Gaspard,” pleaded Florine. “You were 
delirious last night, after you fainted. You told what 
was in your heart — and — and others heard it besides my- 
self!” 

“ Who heard it?” he huskily demanded. “ And what 
did I say?” 

“ You spoke about a — about the murder in Delavan 
Place,” whispered Florine, averting her eyes. from his face 
as if she knew that he could endure no human scrutiny. 

“ What of that?” he flashed out. “ Was it not a topic 
open for discussion to any and every one?” 

“You said— oh, Gaspard, you said that it was your 
hand that fired the fatal shot,” faltered the girl. 

“ 1 was raving,” muttered he. “ Is a man responsible 
for any fevered nonsense he may talk?” 

“ Yes, but, Gaspard — ” 

“ Well?” 

“ Dear, dear Gaspard, do not be angry with me— 7 saw 
you fire the pistol.” 


262 


LOVK AND JEALOUSY. 


“ You did?’^ He recoiled from her with a blank stare, 
and a convulsive start of terror. 

“ Oh, my love, my love, don^t shrink away from me,^^ 
she wailed, piteously, as she threw her arms about his 
neck. “ Oh, Gaspard, I have known it all along — and I 
have loved you just as tenderly as ever. I only tell you of 
it that you may not run into useless danger, that you may 
comprehend how necessary it is for you to be very, very 
careful for awhile, at least. 

“ And what do you propose to do?^^ he asked, sullenly, 
after a second or so of silence. 

“We will remain here quietly, until you are strong 
enough to sail for Italy — and then— then we shall be safe, 
under sunnier skies than these, under the skies of your 
own native land.^^ 

“ But — suppose it should follow us there? The ghost 
he added, impatiently, as Florine looked uncomprehend- 
ingly at him. 

She shuddered convulsively, but made haste to answer: 

“ It will not, dearest, never fear!'^ 

“But I say it will! Oh, my God! there it is, behind 
you now!^^ 

In spite of her self-control, Florine could not help look- 
ing quickly around, so completely did Gaspard's words 
convey the impression of a personal reality at her side. 
As she did so, Montini uttered a piercing shriek, and re- 
lapsed once more into the idle babble of delirium. 

Florine clasped her hands. 

“ Heaven help us!’^ she exclaimed, “he is going to be 
ill again, my poor love. But, thank God, I am here to 
nurse him now. 

Before nightfall, Gaspard Montini was once more 
stricken down with brain fever in one of its worst and 
most perilous aspects, and poor Florine found herself un- 
consciously enacting the role of a true and faithful Sister 
of Charity at his bedside. The two wretched little rooms 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


263 


that she had hired for the exorbitant sum of ten shillings 
a week were turned into an impromptu hospital, and what 
little sleep the poor girl got was snatched on a blanket laid 
on the floor of the outer apartment. The landlady, a 
harsh-visaged old harpy, who kept a beer-shop below, 
never came near them. “She didn’t bargain for sick 
folk,” she said, “ and she should give ’em walking tickets 
just as soon as the furrin mounseer was able to move.”, 
But her daughter, a tall, good-tempered slattern of fifteen 
or sixteen, would sometimes sit with the sleeping sick man 
an hour or two, for Florine to obtain a little much-needed 
rest. 

“ You’re awfully fond of that there chap,” said Hetty 
Piper to Florine one day, as the latter was preparing a 
bowl of gruel for his feverish lips. “Is he really your 
brother 

Florine colored at the abrupt query. 

“ What makes you ask that?” said she. 

“ Because I know he ain’t!” 

Florine went on stirring the gruel without a word. 

“ Is he your husband?” demanded Hetty, with her eyes 
still fixed on the other girl’s face. 

“No; he is not.” 

“ Well, it ain’t none of my business, anyhow,” observed 
Hetty, rubbing her nose, “but mother and the other 
lodgers are talkin’ about it, and—” 

“ What do they say?” flashed out Florine. 

“ Oh, they’re awfully down on you,” chuckled Hetty. 
“ They say it ain’t decent for you to be taking care of a 
fellow that is no relation to you. ” 

“ I suppose,” said Florine, bitterly, “ that it is decent, 
as you call it, to take care of the sick and destitute when 
you find them?” 

“ There’s hospitals for such as they,” persisted Hetty. 

“ Do you suppose I would let him go to a hospital?” in- 


264 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


dignantly demanded Florine. “Hetty, I told you a lie 
just now; he is my husband 

“ Then what was you a-denyin^ of it for?’' questioned 
Hetty. 

“ I was cross — irritated; I didn’t know what 1 said, 
hardly. Yes, he is my husband. Get me a yellow bowl, 
Hetty.” 

And the next time she went out, Florine bought a plated 
gold ring in a miserable little pawn-shop in the neighbor- 
hood, and placed it on the third finger of her left hand. 

“ We shall be married as soon as he is better,” she told 
herself, “ and this will serve to avert people’s tongues, and 
make it easier for me to nurse him.” 

For more than a week Gaspard Montini lay hovering on 
the neutral ground between life and death, but at last the 
parish doctor, who had been called in at the worst, an- 
nounced that the crisis was past — that the disease had at 
length taken a favorable turn. 

But when first be opened his eyes, with the light of rea- 
son shining behind their long lashes, and Florine bent ten- 
derly above him, he shrunk away from her with a sort of 
instinctive horror. 

“Not 2 / 0 w,” said he. 

“ It is I, Gaspard— Florine.” 

“ Go away!” he said, with a motion of aversion. 
“ Don’t come near me. ” 

And when, a few minutes later, she brought a strength- 
ening draught to his bedside, he pushed it from him, with 
a movement that upset its contents over the floor. 

“ Do you want to poison me?” said he, feebly. “ I tell 
you 1 will take nothing from your hand!” 

Florine’s lip quivered, a deadly paleness overspread her 
cheek, but she strove to control herself. 

It’s the fever,” she said, in a whisper, to Hetty Piper. 
“ They’re often that way at first. He will know me by 
and by, and we shall be happy again. ” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


265 


But as the slow days crept by there seemed to be no 
abatement of Gaspard’s newly conceived antipathy to the 
girl who had sacrificed so much for him — and yet Florine 
trusted on. 

“He is not himself yet/' she reasoned. “ Sick people 
are always so. I must have patience to wait. " 

And then she looked at her empty purse, and asked her- 
self, with a sinking heart: 

“ What shall 1 do noio f " 


CHAPTER XXVIl. 

THE STOLEN JEWELS. 

As she sat revolving this very unpleasant state of things 
in her mind, a yellow-faced little boy from the pawn-shop 
knocked at the door. Florine recognized him at once; 
she had pawned her fur-lined silk wrap at his father's es- 
tablishment only a few days ago, the last relic of her stage 
splendor. 

“ Well, Benny," said she, drearily, “ what is it?" 

“ Please, miss, daddy sent you these 'ere," said the boy, 
holding up something wrapped in brown paper. He 
found 'em in the dress-pocket. They wasn't in the bar- 
gain, and they wasn't no use to dad! And he said he 
guessed you wouldn't grudge giving me a penny for bring- 
ing of 'em back." 

Florine opened the paper — it contained a bunch of keys 
of different shapes and sizes, strung on a steel ring which 
she at once recognized as hers. 

“ Yes," said she, “they are mine. I had entirely for- 
gotten their being in that pocket. Tell your father I am 
much obliged, Benny, but I'm afraid I haven't so much as 
a penny for you. Stay, though," as She noticed the boy's 
disappointed countenance, “ here's something that will 
perhaps do as well." 

And she took from a table drawer an arrow-shaped 


266 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


clasp of imitation brilliants which had fastened the tenor 
singer^s blue velvet cloak on the last night he had ever ap- 
peared on the stage, and gave it to the little messenger. 

“ Oh, miss, thank^ee,^^ said Benny, brightening up at 
once; “ that’s awful pretty. ” 

And away he skipped. Florine looked listlessly at the 
keys, careful that they should not jingle, to disturb the 
light slumber of the poor invalid in the front room. 

“ It was honest of the boy to bring them back,” thought 
she, “ although of course I have no use for them now. 1 
wonder what Mrs. Pandex has done with the things at 
Halidome Villas? If only I dared to go back now! But 
it would be madness to dream of it!” 

As she looked at the keys, her glance unconsciously fell 
upon one slender piece of metal with a curiously twisted 
handle. 

“It is the little key that I tried at Delavan Place,” she 
cried aloud — “ the key that fitted Mrs. Carruthers’s jewel 
cabinet!” 

She caught her breath in a gasp — the blood rushed hotly 
to her cheek. Was this the pointing finger of Providence, 
or was it a suggestion from the sulphurous depths of the 
Evil One? So erroneous and uncertain had been poor 
Florine Dufour’s moral training that she was as ready to 
believe the one supposition as the other. 

Disengaging the little key from the ring upon which she 
had placed it that night in Delavan Place, she sat down 
to ponder this new range of possibilities. 

“It was Mrs. Carruthers’s jewel-case,” she thought, 
“ but it is doubtless Miss Vivian’s now. I know all about 
the house. I know their hours, their habits. I could 
steal in like a shadow and help myself to what I wanted, 
and no one would be the wiser until the jewel, whatever it 
might be, should be missed! And even then, I should be 
safe from all suspicion. How lucky that I chanced to drop 
my keys in the pocket of my cloak that last night at Hali- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


267 


dome Villas! And, after all,’' she added to herself, “it 
will not be a theft, only a loan ! I can easily work and re- 
place it in time! It is for Gaspard, and is not his voice in 
itself a fortune? We must have money, and I know not 
where else to look for it. One of those rich rings, a gold 
chain, even one of the ear-drops that she used to wear, 
would be a mine of wealth to us! At all events, it is worth 
the trial. I could starve myself, but I can not let Mm 
perish for lack of wine and arrowroot and nourishing food, 
nor can I let them turn him into the streets because we 
have no money to pay the rent!” 

And between these questions of right and wrong the un- 
disciplined girl, never hesitated for a moment, but* made 
up her mind to become a burglar without the least scruple 
of conscience. 

She loved Gaspard, and it was for him. Beyond this she 
troubled not to think. 

Florine was well aware that the Carruthers family had 
always been in the habit of dining at about seven, and at 
that hour one dreary evening she was lurking in the area, 
wrapped in a dark shawl, and scarcely to be distinguished 
from the shadows in the deepening twilight. She had tried 
the area door, but it was fastened, and was compelled to 
reconcile herself to compulsory waiting for a brief period 
of time. So she leaned back in the angle of the wall, 
slightly shivering in the chill spring air, and thinking of 
the strange, dream-like succession of events which had 
taken place in her young life since last she had trodden 
that threshold. 

Presently the key grated in the lock, the door flew open, 
and a boy, glittering all over in metal buttons, whom 
Florine at once concluded to be the page, flew out with a 
pitcher in his hand, followed by the husky voice of the 
footman. 

“ Now, then, Jim, look alive, and don’t be gone all 
day!” 


^68 LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 

Thus admouishecl, the lad sped away, the man^s heavy 
step was heard retreating toward the servants^ rooms, and, 
taking advantage of the opportunity, Florine softly lifted 
the latch and crept in. 

All was quiet and silent. A candle flamed and flickered 
on a table against the wall; from the distant servants’ hall 
came the voice of laughter and talking, but no one was 
visible. Hurrying up the back staircase, Florine opened a 
door of green baize, which led to the Turkey-carpeted 
corridor of the upper hall. The door of the room which 
had been Mrs. Oswald Oarruthers’s stood partially open, 
and Florine could see that it was illumined only by a single 
cluster of wax lights. A pulse of triumph throbbed in her 
heart as she perceived that it was quite empty and deserted. 

A low, clear Are burned on the marble hearth; over a 
satin chair lay a dressing- wrapper of violet silk, lined with 
quilted cashmere, just where Gwyneth Vivian had flung it 
off when she went to dress, and an open book had fallen to 
the floor. So complete were the evidences of life and re- 
cent occupation in the apartment that had been Gertrude 
Carruthers’s that Florine’s heart seemed to stand still for 
a second, and she almost expected to see the murdered 
woman emerge from the warm and perfumed shadows of 
the room, and stand before her. 

It was but for a second, however, that our little heroine 
quailed. Then, fully conscious of the necessity of doing 
quickly what she had to do, Florine took the key from 
her pocket and unlocked the ebony casket which still occu- 
pied its old place on the top of a low chiffonier. With a 
long breath she opened the inner drawers, disclosing their 
treasures of chains, bracelets, rings and trinkets, and, in 
the center compartment of all lined with pale-blue velvet, 
and smelling faintly of sandal-wood, something flashed 
upon her eyes, in the half light, like smoldering fire. 

“ Diamonds!” cried the girl, under her breath. “ Mrs. 
Carruthers never kept her diamonds here!” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


260 


It was true. The set of diamonds which Rosse Vavasor 
had recently bestowed upon his affianced bride had been 
worn by her that very day at a morning concert, and, re- 
turning rather late to dress for an afternoon drive, she had 
flung them into the jewel casket, instead of placing them 
in their proper receptacle — a burnished brass box, guarded 
by a Bramah lock. 

Florine Dufonr’s eyes sparkled almost as brightly as the 
precious stones, as, having selected a single ear-pendant 
and one bracelet from the glittering tangle, she thrust 
them into her bosom, relocking the casket with a trem- 
bling hand. 

As she did so a footstep came tripping along the hall, a 
low, pleasant voice sung the words of one of Offenbach’s 
arias: 

que faime le militaire I J^aime le militaire, 
faime le militaire /” 

Instinctively Florine Oufour pushed open the mirror 
door of a tall wardrobe in the corner, and shrunk within 
its ample recesses, holding the bronzed handle with nerv- 
ous clutch, while Laurette, Miss Vivian’s new maid, took 
a fan and smelling-bottle from the glittering profusion on 
the dressing bureau, and tripped down-stairs with them, 
still singing the merry little French chanson, and all un- 
conscious of the other human presence so close to her. 

Not until the sound of her light feet had died away, and 
all was hushed and silent again, did Florine venture, to 
emerge from her hiding-place and steal down the half- 
lighted stairs again with beating heart, and cheeks alter- 
nately scarlet and pale. The long basement hall was still 
deserted, the door locked on the inside this time. She 
turned the key softly, and, like an arrow out of a bow, 
darted away into the darkness, with the precious stones 
lying close to her heart. 

Gaspard Montini was still asleep — he had never once 
awakened during her absence. At least, so Hetty Piper 


270 


J.OVE AND JEALOUSY. 


told her. Hetty had been left on guard in the back room, 
with a penny story-paper to beguile her tedious solitude 
during Florine’s absence. 

“But the grocer ^s boy, ma^am; he^s been here,^^ added 
Hetty, in a loud whisper, “ and he says — 

“ Never mind what he says,^^ brusquely interrupted 
Florine; “he shall be paid to-morrow, Mr. Montley — 
the name she had temporarily adopted for the sick man — 
“ receives remittances then. 

Hetty Piper retreated with very wide-open eyes, and 
Florine, carefully locking the door behind her, sat down 
and took the ear-pendant from her bosom. 

It was an exquisite ornament: two diamonds of different 
size, hanging like twin drops of water, in a setting of en- 
ameled gold. Florine tried with the scissors to force the 
upper stone out of the tiny gold claws that held it, but in 
vain. The lapidary had done the work too well for that, 
and she was compelled to wrench the ornament in two in 
the middle, replacing the smaller diamond in her bosom, 
and wrapping the larger in a bit of tissue paper. 

“ I can’t stop to unfasten it,” said Florine to herself, as 
she hurried out once more, and, indulging in the unusual 
luxury of a cab, ordered the man to drive to Ezra Ben- 
jamin’s place of business in All-hallow Street. 

“ The further away from home the better,” said she to 
herself. 

At the nearest corner she dismissed and paid the man, 
and entered the dingy old shop on foot. There were but 
few customers there at that time of night, and Mr. Ben- 
jamin himself, a sprucely dressed middle-aged man, with a 
strong smell of citronella perfume in his profusely oiled 
black locks, and a blue satin neck-tie, fastened by a pro- 
digious sapphire, stepped forward to wait upon her. His 
little eyes glistened at sight of the jewel. 

“ A very nice stone, my dear,” said Mr. Benjamin, fa- 
miliarly; “ and where did you get it?” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


271 


“ l am a lady’s-maid,’^ said Florine, plausibly; “ Lady 
Pepper-edge, in Dominicus Square, my mistress, needs 
money at once. She wants to know how much, you will 
loan upon this diamond.” 

“ Is it real?” asked Mr. Benjamin. 

“ Of course it’s real,” indignantly retorted the supposi- 
tious lady’s-maid. 

Ezra Benjamin made a show of considering. 

“ I’m not one to haggle with a customer like her lady- 
ship,” said he, “ but a poor tradesman must consult his 
best interests, and I should be losing money if I said more 
than ten pounds!” 

Florine hesitated a second or two, too politic to show 
how much she was delighted with the sum named. 

“Well,” said she, “I suppose 1 must take it, if you 
won’t say any more.” 

“ Couldn’t, upon my life, I couldn’t say another cent,” 
smartly interposed Mr. Benjamin. 

“ Let me have it in small notes, please,” said Florine. 
“ Of course, her ladyship will redeem it in a few days.” 

“ Oh, of course,” said Mr. Benjamin, who never ex- 
pected to see Florine again. 

But the diamond was worth ten times what he had pro- 
posed to advance upon it, and Mr. Benjamin did not at all 
object to that way of doing business. 

Gliding once more out of the dismal little shop, Florine 
walked a block or two, satisfying herself that she was not 
watched or followed in any manner, before she called a cab 
once more. 

And that night the bills were paid, and Gaspard Montini 
was surprised by the unexpected luxury of white grapes, 
a bottle of Ehine wine, and a dish of quails on toast for 
his supper. 

Gwyneth Vivian came up from dinner that evening and 
placed herself under Mile. Laurette’s hands for a few fin- 
ishing touches to her toilet before she went out to a ball 


272 


LOVE AND .^EALOUSY. 


at a foreign embassador^s, to which she had been looking 
forward for some time. 

“ Will mademoiselle please to wear the opals or the dia- 
monds to-night?^ ^ said Laurette, pausing after she had 
fastened a trailing spray of white jasmine into her mis- 
tress’s thick brown locks. 

The diamonds, of course,” said Gwyneth, with a yawn. 
“ Mr. Vavasor will be there, and he will expect me to wear 
his gift. Here’s the key,” and she gave it to Laurette. 

Unlocking the diamond case, Laurette looked into it 
with a little start. 

‘‘ Mademoiselle, the diamonds are not here.” 

“ Not there? Oh, I remember — 1 put them into the 
ebony cabinet this afternoon.” 

And rising, Gwyneth herselU unlocked the cabinet, and 
took out the sparkling jewels. 

“ Here is the necklace,” said she, “ and the ring and 
cross, and — but there’s only one ear-ring, and — the brace- 
let is gone. Good heavens! what does this mean?” 

Laurette turned pale, but scarcely more so than her 
mistress. 

Perhaps,” she began, “ mademoiselle has mislaid 
them, or — ” 

“ Perhaps mademoiselle has done nothing of the sort,” 
imperiously interposed Gwyneth Vivian. . “ They were all 
there this morning — 1 put them there myself, and what 
has become of them now?” 

Then ensued a general tumult and confusion through the 
house. Laurette began to cry and wring her hands. 
Gwyneth vehemently rang the bell and sent for Mrs. 
Brooke and the housekeeper, and the upshot of it all was 
that the poor little French maid was arrested. Miss Vivian 
took to her bed in violent hysterics, and the embassador’s 
ball lost the light of that gay lady’s presence upon that 
especial night. 

A scented note reached Mr, Rosse Yavasor the next 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


373 


morning, as he sat at his morning muffins and coffee. 
The banker smiled as he opened it. 

“ From Gwyneth,’^ said he, not uncomplacently. 

“ My dear Kosse,^^ it read, “ please come to me at 
once — I am in very great trouble. 

“ Your own, 

“G. 

Mr. Vavasor laid down the tiny sheet of satin hot- 
pressed paper. 

“ What does it all indicate?^’ said he to himself. “ Can 
it be that there is any truth in the unpleasant report I have 
lately heard of that poor girl’s father being still alive?” 

For, although Rosse Vavasor never dreamed that his 
bride-elect was the daughter of an exiled felon, he had 
heard a disagreeable rumor that the Captain Vivian who 
never had been any particular credit to his family had 
been lately seen alive and flourishing in some portions of 
London, and the report had annoyed him more than he 
liked to have visible. 

He finished his coffee, pushed aside the morning paper, 
and went straight to the mansion on Delavan Place. 
Miss Vivian met him on the threshold of the drawing- 
room. 

“ Oh, Rosse!” cried she, with clasped hands, “ I am so 
wretched I” 

“ My dearest girl,” said he, “ what can possibly be the 
matter?” 

“ My diamonds, Rosse! The diamonds you gave me!” 
exclaimed Gwyneth, sinking back into a chair, with pale 
cheeks and fluttering voice. 

“ What of them?” 

“ The bracelet is gone! And one of the ear-pendants!” 
stammered Gwyneth. 

Mr. Vavasor sat down, and contrived by much ques- 
tioning to elicit the real facts of the case. He beard 


274 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


of ladies of high rank pawning their diamonds to enable 
them to tide over some temporary financial difficulty, but 
he soon perceived from Gwyneth’s manner that she was 
quite innocent of any such expedient. He was a man quick 
at drawing inferences, and after a brief consideration, took 
both Gwyneth’s hands in his. 

“ My dear,” said he, “1 believe that you have uninten- 
tionally committed a great wrong in arresting poor Lau- 
rette. ” 

‘‘Eosse!” 

“ I do not believe she took the diamonds. Had she 
been the thief do you suppose she would have contented 
herself with taking a part, when the whole was at her 
mercy? Or do you suppose that she would have remained 
here to be accused and convicted?” 

“ Then who did steal them?” cried out Gwyneth. 

“ That remains for us to discover. In the absence of 
your brother-in-law, 1 shall, of course, take it upon me to 
put this matter into the hands of the polic, and also of 
some good detective bureau. Bryan & Brunei, I believe, 
stand high in that particular branch of the business. Ho 
time should be lost. ” 

“Oh, Kosse, how good you are!” exclaimed Miss Viv- 
ian, fervently. 

“It is my greatest pleasure to be of use to you,” said 
Mr. Vavasor, somewhat formally. “ But Gwyneth — ” 

“ Yes?” She lifted her eyes with appealing softness to 
his. 

“ There is a subject upon which I would like to speak 
to you before I leave the house this morning.” 

Gwyneth’s guilty conscience leaped at once to the con- 
clusion that the whole length, depth, and breadth of her 
flirtation with the handsome Italian tenor was discovered; 
she looked with silent, imploring eyes at the banker’s 
face. 


LOVE AlfD. JEALOUSY. 


275 


“ What is it?^’ said she, in a voice which all her efforts 
could not render otherwise than faltering and uncertain. 

“ I thought you told me that Captain Vivian, your fa- 
ther, died last year,” Mr. Vavasor said. 

“ So I did,” asserted Gwyneth, somewhat relieved. 

He died at Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight.” 

“ Are you quite sure of this?” 

“ Oh, quite,” said Gwyneth; “ I was at his death-bed, 
poor dear papa! It was just after the terrible loss of Ger- 
trude, and the double bereavement almost broke my 
heart.” 

She lifted her handkerchief to her eyes. Mr. Vavasor 
looked at her, wishing that he could divest himself of a 
certain atmosphere of unreality, not to say falsity that 
clung around her softly spoken words. 

“You never told me of this at the time,” said he. 

“ I could not, Rosse. Dear papa had lived a gay and 
thoughtless life, in which there were many incidents for 
which we, his children, had learned to blush! And — and 
it was not a topic of which we liked to talk. Besides, dear 
Rosse,” with another appealing look, “you forget that 
you were not to me then what you are now. 

“ That is true^” said Mr. Vavasor, beginning to melt 
under the effective shining of his fiancee^ s soft eyes. “ I 
asked you, Gwyneth, because I have heard a rumor to the 
effect that Captain Vivian has been seen in London within 
a week. ” 

“ It is false!” cried Gwyneth,. hurriedly. “ Qidte false! 
I myself closed his eyes. ^ ^ 

“ In that case,” said Mr. Vavasor, feeling considerably 
relieved that he was not threatened with a ne’er-do-well fa- 
ther-in-law, “ my informant was most probably misled bv 
some accidental resemblance.” 

“ Undoubtedly,” said Gwyneth. But her heart beat 
unevenly, and her cheeks blanched and grew flushed 
alternately, as she spoke. 


27G 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ And/^ went on Vavasor, “ I have to apologize to you 
for what might at first appear idle curiosity. 1 assure 
you, however, it was only dictated to me by the most 
earnest interest in you and your welfare?^^ 

Gwyneth inclined her head with a sweet smile. 

“ I anl quite sure of that,^^ said she. 

“ And 1 will now proceed to give special notice of this 
bold burglary to the police,^’ said he, “ and also to offer a 
reward. And, in case all our efforts should prove unavail- 
ing to discover their whereabouts, 1 shall of course esteem 
it my duty to replace them as soon as that fact is estab- 
lished beyond doubt.’' 

“ Dear Eosse!” murmured Gwyneth, “ how can I ever 
thank you?” 

And she smiled him away, only to sink despairingly on a 
sofa as soon as he was gone. 

“ Are all the fates conspiring against me?” she said, 
half aloud. “ There is only one thing left for me, and 
that is, to hurry on this marriage as fast as possible.” 

She was in tears when Ohristabel Fane came into the 
drawing-room, with a spray of rare fern leaves in her 
hand, for one of the slender crystal vases. 

Gwyneth,” said the girl, stopping short — for in spite 
of Miss Vivian’s avowed antagonism, and the complete 
lack of sympathy between them, the sight of the weeping 
face disarmed her at once — “ dear. Gwyneth, what is the 
matter?” 

Gwyneth Vivian sat up, dashing the salt spray from her 
eyelashes. She hated Ohristabel as cordially and heartily 
as ever her sister Gertrude had done, but there are ex- 
igencies in life in which every heart demands sympathy and 
counsel, and Gwyneth felt very lonesome and solitary just 
then. 

‘"Ohristabel,” said she, “ what shall I do? He knows 
.about — about papa.’^ 

“ Mr. Vavasor, do you mean?” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 277 

“Yes. Some one has seen papa. And he has been 
told. And — and he taxed me with it!^^ 

“ Gwyneth/' said Christabel, gently, “ be frank with 
Mr. Vavasor. He is a noble, right-minded gentleman, 
who deserves to be dealt truthfully with. Tell him the 
whole story. Throw yourself on his love and indulgence. 
He will perceive at once that you are in no degree to blame 
for the faults and follies of your father's life. He will ap- 
preciate you all the more, feeling that he has your full 
confidence. " 

“ I can not!" shrieked Gwyneth, hysterically. “ I — I 
have already told him — " 

“ Told him what?" 

“ That papa was dead. That I closed his eyes. Now 
you may look reproachfully at me, but what else could I 
do? Am I to let that wretched old drunkard come be- 
tween me and my good fortune? No, not if 1 told a thou- 
sand more lies!" 

“ Oh, Gywneth, how could you?" 

“ Was there ever a Saint Christabel?" demanded 
Gwyneth, with a hard laugh. “ Because if there was, you 
are a fitting representative to continue the race! How 
could 1, do you ask? What else was there for me to do? 
Was I to blight my whole future by letting Eosse Vavasor 
know I was a felon's child?" 

And Gywneth burst into a new shower of angry tears. 

Christabel put both arms caressingly about the girl's 
bowed neck. 

“Gwyneth," said she, gently, “it is not yet too late. 
Take my advice. Tell Mr. Vavasor all!" 

But Gwyneth Vivian only pushed her away. 

“ It is too late," asserted she. 

And she rose and hurried sobbing out of the room. 


m 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

ON THE TRACK. 

Derwent Bryan was standing, in a sort of brown 
study, before the fire in his sanctum that noon, when Mr. 
Vavasor's elegant coupe stopped before the door of No. 6 
Landor Street, and Mr. Vavasor's card was brought in by 
the snuffy old woman who officiated as general attendant. 
The introductory slip of pasteboard was almost immedi- 
ately followed by the stately banker himself. 

Mr. Bryan received him with the bluff, frank courtesy 
that knew no difference between miller and millionaire. 

“ Well, sir," said he, “ what can I do for you?" 

“ I have called," said Mr. Vavasor, declining with a 
stiff bow the battered office chair that was offered to him, 
“ to desire your services in reference to a certain diamond 
robbery at — " 

“ Exactly," interposed Bryan, leaning both elbows on 
the desk, and lowering his voice to a scarcely audible key; 
“ the diamond robbery at No. — Delavan Place. A brace- 
let containing five stones, and an ear-drop containing 
two." 

Mr. Vavasor started. 

“ You are right," said he, “ but how did you become 
aware of the exact articles and the place?" 

Bryan smiled. “ I've a way of finding out things," 
said he, “a man don’t spend ten years of his life in the 
police force without learning to keep his ears open and his 
mouth shut. Oh, yes; I've heard all about the robbery; 
but if there's any particular circumstances you want to ex- 
plain specially to me, why, I shall be glad to hear 'em. 
It's our business to pick up all the floating items, and then 
piece the little bits of information together as neatly as 
we can." 


LOVE AisD JEALOUSY. 279 

He listened silently and attentively while Mr. Vavasor 
went over the chief details of the case. 

“ I suppose you are willing to offer a reward?’^ said he, 
feeling his smooth-shaven chin. 

Two hundred pounds for the recovery and return of 
the diamonds, set or unset,^^ said Mr. Vavasor, impress- 
ively; “ three hundred additional for the apprehension of 
the thief or thieves. ” 

“ That sounds like business,^ ^ said Bryan, nodding his 
head and pursing up his lips. “ Would you object, now, 
to my taking a quiet inspection of the premises in an in- 
formal sort of wayr^' 

“ Not at all,^^ answered the banker. 

“ Novv^s my time, then,’^ said Mr. Bryan, reaching down 
his hat from a row of pegs at the back of the door, and 
summoning a bald-headed old subordinate to take his 
place at the desk “ I wish you a very good-morning, Mr. 
Vavasor; ITl report progress to you this time to-morrov/ 
morning, at your residence. ” 

Mrs. Beckford was very much astonished about half an 
hour later, on learning that “ a gentleman wanted to speak 
to her,^^ and finding herself in the presence of her old 
friend A 67. 

“ Why, Mr. Bryan, cried she, dropping her spectacles, 
“ well, I do declare, this is the nervousest place as ever I 
lived in; something always turning up, and never a min- 
ute of peace 

“ I hope 1 don't disturb you, ma'am," said Bryan, 
jocosely; “I've just stepped around here to inquire into 
this diamond business. Is your young lady at home, 
ma'am?" 

Miss Vivian received the detective politely, showed him 
the room, the jewel-case, and explained all the details of 
the loss, assisted by Laurette, who had been received back 
again into her service upon beiug exonerated from all sus- 
picion as to the robbery. 


280 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Derwent Bryan listened intently, and while he listened, 
his restless eyes wandered hither and thither, taking in 
every accessory of the scene. 

“ Yes,^^ said he, at last, I think 1 understand now. 
I’m much obliged to you. Miss Vivian; nothing more is 
necessary.” 

So he went back, and once more fell into a brown study 
in front of the office fire. And, strange to say, the same 
person that had occupied his thoughts previous to the 
banker’s visit, moved through his meditations once again 
— Florine Dufour. 

For Derwent Bryan was skilled, through long experi- 
ence, in putting two and two together. 

“ It’s as plain as daylight,” said he to himself, “ that 
that robbery was committed by some one that knew all the 
outs and ins of the house. It wasn’t done by any of the 
servants — not unless they’re older hands at the business 
than I take ’em to be. Nor it wasn’t done by the gentry 
themselves — which I’ve known it to be, once in awhile — 
and they offering rewards all the time for a blind. Well, 
what then? Was it done by some one that once knew all 
about the house and its ways — some one that is in great 
trouble for money, and sore bestead? That’s the question. 
Florine Dufour,” muttering the words between his com- 
pressed lips, “you’re hidden away well and neatly, and 
you’re keeping it up in a way that does you credit. But it 
can’t last forever, my dear. The net’s narrowing around 
you, and sooner or later you’ll find yourself tangled up in 
its meshes, or my name is not Derwent Bryan. ” 

He touched a bell on the table, and, as if by magic, 
Daniel Brunei, his partner, appeared. 

“Business,” said Brunei, with an upward hitch of his 
bushy, white eyebrows. 

“ Business,” Bryan answered, briefly. “ That diamond 
robbery in Del a van Place.” 

“ Ob!” smd Bruneh 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


m 


“ Ifc^s placed in our hands to work up. 

“ Yes?’' That word was half a question, half a com- 
ment. 

“Two hundred pounds for the recovery of the stones, 
three hundred for the apprehension of the thief, or thieves 
— five hundred in all. ” 

Brunei nodded. “ Am I to set the wires to working at 
once?” said he. 

“ At once. Stop, though. We must engineer as quiet- 
ly as possible. There are reasons — special reasons — for 
keeping dark.” 

“ There generally are, in these cases,” observed Brunei, 
trimming his finger-nails with a tortoise -shell-hand led 
knife. “ 1 suppose 1 had better go around to the various 
diamond brokers and jewelers.” 

“ I suppose so — if it is not too late.” 

“ It don’t stand to reason that they’ll try to dispose of 
the stones in too great a hurry,” remarked Brunei, “ un- 
less they take ’em abroad, and we’ve got friends in the 
steamer offices to look after all such little games. Oh, I 
think there’s time enough.” 

“ It may be,” said Derwent Bryan, who never took any- 
thing for granted in his profession. “ Well, you look to 
the diamond traders, and I’ll step around to the various 
pawnbrokers. If anything should occur to you — ” 

“ I’ll let you know,” nodded Brunei, and the two part- 
ners separated, one stealing away, like an overgrown cat, 
down the nearest cross street, the other sauntering away, 
in an opposite direction, with his hands in his pockets, and 
whistling a popular tune, like a man enmiyed to death 
for lack of some occupation. 

All that day he strolled in and out of various establish- 
ments, respectable and otherwise, surmounted by the ven- 
erable heraldic bearing of the Three Golden Balls of Lom- 
bardy, asking questions, examining counters, growing 
confidential with the shopkeepers as they burrowed to- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


282 

gether into the depths of iron safes in the back regions, 
and compared notes over odd little wire trays of unset 
brilliants. But all to no avail, except so far as needful 
precautions for the future were concerned, until toward 
five o’clock he dived into Ezra Benjamin’s dark and un- 
promising little hole in All-hallow Street. 

Mr. Benjamin was just lighting up, as spruce as ever, 
with his satin tie, and his prevailing odor of citronella. 
He went behind the counter at once, with a bland inclina- 
tion of his head in the direction of the new-comer. 

“ Oh!” said he, with sudden recognition, “ it’s Mr. 
Bryan, ain’t it? Of Bryan & Brunei? Hope I see you 
well, sir. Nothing wrong in my line of business to-day, 1 
hope?” 

“ There’s never anything wrong when we have to deal 
with gentlemen like yourself, Benjamin,” said Bryan, 
seating himself on a tarnished velvet stool, screwed on to 
the fioor, and balancing his elbows neatly on the counter. 
“It’s the slippery eels of the profession that give us 
trouble.” 

“ What can 1 do for you to-day?” grinned Mr. Ben- 
jamin, uncertain how to take this unusual display of 
courtesy. 

“ Well, not to deceive you, I am looking for diamonds!” 
slowly responded the ex -policeman. 

“ Set or unset?” 

“ Both. Or either. May you happen to have had any 
valuable stones left here lately?” 

Mr. Benjamin referred rather ostentatiously to his 
books. 

“ Don’t look there,” said Bryan. “ It ain’t the kind of 
bargain as is set down in black and white that I’m after. 
Let’s just look through your safe together, you and me, 
Benjamin.” 

Mr. Benjamin closed his books with another grin. 

“ 1 see you mean work,” said he. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


283 


“ That’s just what I do mean/’ said Derwent Bryan. 
“ Bless your heart, Ezra Benjamin, you’ve never lost any- 
thing yet, when you and 1 worked together, and I don’t 
mean you shall this time. Come, look alive!” 

Without another word of inquiry or protestation, Mr. 
Benjamin unlocked his safe and drew out a little paste- 
board box, where, in a nest of pink wool, sparkled three 
diamonds, of different shape, size, and water. Bryan’s 
eyes glittered as he pounced down upon one in a setting of 
black enamel and gold — a setting which had evidently been 
wrenched away from its place by no gentle effort. 

“ Who brought this here?” said he, brusquely. 

“ Lady Pepperedge’s maid. PVom Dominicus Square. 
Yesterday, about eight o’clock.” 

“ Did she?” Bryan’s eyes glistened. “ Her ladyship 
has a very pretty idea in diamonds. Lady Pepperedge’s 
maid? What was she like, Benjamin?” 

“ I couldn’t describe her exactly, not if 1 was to be put 
on oath,” said Benjamin. “ I know she was veiled, and 
wore some sort of a darkish wrapper. ” 

“ Was she tall?” 

‘‘No. Medium size, I should say. Slim, and moved 
light and quick, and spoke in a soft, hurried sort of way.” 

“ Any accent?” 

“ N— no, I should say not. If there was, I didn’t 
notice it.” 

“ Should you know her again?” 

“ I should know her walk and voice anywhere.” 

Bryan pondered a little. 

“ Benjamin,” said he, “I want this diamond.” 

“ Come, now,” said the pawnbroker, laughing, “ ain’t 
that rather cool?” 

“ AVhy, you knew perfectly well it was stolen when you 
took it, didn’t you? But you needn’t be alarmed. You 
won’t be a loser. 1 want this stone — and 1 want the next 
one that Lady Pepperedge sees fit to dispose of!” 


384 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


‘^She wou^t come here with it/^ dryly remarked the 
pawnbroker. 

No. But she won’t go far off. There’s most always 
a radius for them things, a reg’lar orbit, like the sun, 
moon, and stars we used to read of in our ’stronomy book, 
eh? And if you’d like a little help in your business. I’ll 
stay around here for a few days, sort of promiscuous 
like.” 

“ Much obliged, I’m sure,” said Ezra Benjamin, with 
another grin. 

“ Thought you would be. How much did you say you 
loaned Lady Peppered ge’s maid on this one little sparkler?” 

Ten pounds.” 

“ Ten pounds, eh? Well, Ezra Benjamin, Esquire, you 
are a sharp man of business.” 

It’s a deal of money,” said Mr. Benjamin, with a 
cringing smile. “ And in our business we’re exposed to 
such a loss and uncertainty.” 

“ Oh, certainly, certainly,” interrupted Mr. Bryan. 
“ A deal of money, as you say. But not such a large sum 
but that her ladyship’ll need more in time. And I should 
very much like to get hold of her ladyship’s post-office ad- 
dress. She’s an old friend of mine, is Lady Pepperedge, 
and she hadn’t ought to be so exceetZingly retiring! It 
ain’t doing justice to her friends, you know.” 

“ No, to be sure not,” said Mr. Benjamin, scratching 
his profusely oiled head. 

“ So, with your leave, Benjamin, I’ll establish a sort of 
head-quarters here, for a little while — ” 

“ At your service, I’m sure,” said the pawnbroker. 

“ And I’ll jot down the names and numbers of the 
other gentlemen in your line of business just around here, 
and we’ll keep a brisk lookout to all the points of the com- 
pass, that’s what we’ll do. ” 

It was with a bounding heart that Derwent Bryan at 
length issued from Mr. Ezra Benjamin’s establishment 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


285 


that afternoon, and strolled along All-hallow Street in the 
direction of the detective bureau. 

“ Tracked at last!’’ he muttered to himself, “ and 
sooner than I dared to hope for, but I’ve worked hard, 
and I’ve deserved success, for if ever man had induce- 
ments / have. Not only the reward to earn, but Florine 
Dufour to discover. Little Florine!” 

His eyes lighted up, the color mounted to his swarthy 
cheeks as he strode on. 

“ I ought to give her up to justice at once,” he pon- 
dered, “ and leave her to the fate she justly merits — a 
daring thief, a heartless jilt, a discovered plotter — but — I 
don’t altogether believe that I shall. One glance out of 
those soft eyes, one pleadiug tone of the voice, and I know 
perfectly well that I shall become as wax in her hands. 
If I could only forget her, and whistle her down the wind 
as she deserves.” 

For Mr. Bryan was not entirely at his ease, in spite of 
the brilliant and unanticipated success tvith which he had 
already met. In the arena of his heart, lover and man of 
business were at odds, and the contest was sharp and un- 
settled. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
love’s victory. 

“Mr. Carruthers! dear me, sir, we supposed you 
were in America!” 

Mrs. Brooke, sleepily dozing away the morning hours, 
in the amber and gold drawing-room in Delavan Place, 
was startled into something akin to animation by the sud- 
den apparition of a tall and sunburned gentleman among 
the stands of flowers and statuettes. 

Oswald smiled at her evident surprise. 

“ So I was, ten days ago,” said he, “ but you see I 


286 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


have returned to my English home. Are they all well, 
Mrs. Brooke?’^ 

“ Oh, quite,"" answered the old lady. “ And Miss Vivian 
— your sister, Gwyneth, is to be married in a month!"" 

To Mr. Vavasor?’" 

“ To Mr. Vavasor, of course,"" nodded Mrs. Brooke, 
sagaciously. 

“ And Miss Fane?"" This last inquiry was hazarded in 
a quick, nervous sort of way. 

“ Oh, she is as well as ever, and as sweet. 1 do think, 
Mr. Oarruthers,"" said Mrs. Brooke, that Christabel 
Fane is the most of 'a real Christian of any young girl I 
ever saw. It does astonish me, the way she keeps her tem- 
per, and — "" 

1 hope nothing has happened to annoy her,"" said Os- 
wald, quickly. 

“ Nothing special,"" the old lady made haste to answer; 
“ only, of course, there "s little trials come to everybody, 
and Gwyneth Vivian isn"t altogether a saint, you know. 
1 get out of sorts myself — most of us do — but Christabel is 
always calm and unruffled as an angel."" 

“ And Sid?"" 

“Sid; the same as ever,"" said Mrs. Brooke, smiling. 
“ A lovable boy, when he"s not in one of his tantrums. 
He"s a little quick-tempered, is Sid, but Christabel can do 
anything with him; but I beg your pardon for chattering 
on in this sort of way, Mr. Carruthers,"" added Mrs. 
Brooke, “ when 1 have not thought to ask whether or not 
you have been to lunch."" 

“ Thank you; I lunched at Southampton before I came 
on here. I wonder if Miss Fane is in?"" 

“ She"j in the library,"" said Mrs. Brooke, “ or at least 
she was. Sidney has gone to the Zoological Gardens with 
Lord Lilburn’s son, next door. One of the footmen at- 
tended them, and — "" 


LOVR JTlALOrSY. 287 

“ Thanks/' interrupted Oswald. 1 will go to her and 
announce myself." 

Christabel Fane was sitting in the window-seat of the 
library, so as to get the full sunlight on an old illuminated 
missal that she was examining — a low window-seat, cush- 
ioned in satin damask, and running around the embrasure 
of the casement. The library in Delavan Place was a 
pleasant apartment, with draperies of blue velvet pen- 
dant from old - fashioned gilt rods, and well filled with 
books, which looked as if they were placed there for 
use, not show. A carved oaken table stood in the middle 
of the room, heaped up with pamphlets, magazines, and 
portfolios of engravings, and a vase of carnations and 
smilax stood side by side with a cut-glass inkstand and a 
bronzed pen-rack, bristling with various patterns of pens. 
The carpet of deep blue and scarlet Persian device yielded 
like forest moss beneath the steps, deadening all sound, 
and a marble head of Shelley gazed beamingly down from 
a blue velvet-draped bracket opposite the door, while 
Shakespeare’s noble brow loomed from the corresponding 
niche beyond the mantel. 

The book had fallen to ChristabePs lap. Her profile 
was clearly outlined against the window, as she looked 
dreamily out, absorbed in some meditation of her own; 
and to Oswald Carruthers, standing there like a noiseless 
spirit in the door-way, it seemed for a- second as if Time 
were annihilated, and the past had evolved itself into the 
present, as if he were back again in that soft April day at 
White Oaks, when first he saw Christabel Fane standing 
there in the drawing-room, with her deep-black robes, and 
the face that was like an angel's. 

As he stood there, she drew a long sigh, as if some un- 
pleasant association of thoughts occupied her own mind, 
and turned to pick up the book again, perceiving in the 
same instant that she was. no longer alone. 

“ Oswald!" she cried, starting to her feet. 


288 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. . 


He came forward with a grave smile. 

“ It is I, Christabel/’ said he. “ Have you no word of 
welcome for the wanderer who has once more returned to 
his adopted land?’^ 

But although Christabel made a valiant effort, she could 
not follow the example of calm self-repression which Os- 
wald Carruthers set her. The hand which she involun- 
tarily extended trembled like a leaf — the color varied 
painfully on her cheeks. 

“ Christabel, you are not sorry to see me?'^ 

Sorry? Oh, no, no! But — but — it is so sudden,^' 
faltered she. 

“ Yes, it is sudden,^'’ said Oswald, leaning against the 
window- casing, and looking down upon her with grave, 
absent eyes. “ I had fully made up my mind to remain 
in America always. But there came over me a singular 
sensation that seemed constantly impelling me to return 
once more to England. I resisted it as long as I could. I 
reasoned with myself until logic became a mere farce. I 
could not remain longer among the woods and prairies that 
once were all-sufficient companionship for me. So here I 
am. ' ^ 

“ And 1 am glad of it,^’ said Christabel, who had by 
this time recovered her self-poise. 

Oswald’s sad, set face brightened a little at the fervor of 
her words. 

“ Christabel, do you really mean that?” §aid he. 

“ I can not — I can not stay here any longer, Oswald,” 
she said, hurriedly. “ It was very kind of you to offer me 
a home, and, believe me, I appreciate your motives, but I 
see now that 1 have made a mistake. Sid is growing out 
of my care. He has a tutor now, and he is reading for 
Cambridge. He loves me, but we — I think he could do 
without me now, and my life is withering away in this 
luxurious atmosphere.” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 289 

“ Where would you go, Christabel?^^ gravely questioned 
Oswald. “ What different life do you contemplate?^^ 

“ I know you think me fickle and capricious, Oswald, 
she hesitated. 

“ On the contrary, I think you are the least fickle and 
capricious person 1 ever saw,” interrupted he. “ Go on. 
Speak all that is in your mind!^^ 

“ 1 have been thinking that I should like to be a Sister 
• of Mercy, or a hospital nurse, or to fill some such vocation 
where I can be of some use in the world. If I am destined 
to be alone, I do not want any loneliness to react upon my 
own nature, and sour or warp it.^^ 

“ Do you think that would be possible, Christabel?’^ 

‘‘ I should not like to risk it,^^ said she, with a faint 
smile. “ But I want to feel that I am of real, active use 
to some one in the world. Up to this time my life has 
seemed to be one series of obstacles. 1 would fain begin 
anew, now that you have returned to release me from the 
promise I gave you to remain here. ” 

Oswald Carruthers walked once or twice up and down 
the library in silence, and then returned to his old place 
opposite the girl, who still sat there, pale and quiet. 

“ Christabel,"" said he, in a low, earnest tone, “ if your 
life has seemed to be a mistake, what must you think of 
mine 

“ Dear Oswald, yours is different by far. Yours has 
been a life of self-sacrifice, of atonement, of real and noble 
aims.” 

He shook his head sadly. 

“ If I could only think so,” said he. “I have tried to 
do right, Christabel, but I have failed most signally.” 

“ Do not think that,” pleaded Christabel; “ think 
rather of all that you have endured and suffered; think of 
the conquest you have gained over yourself!” 

“ I am Savage Carruthers still,” he said, smiling, and 
10 


290 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


stroking his beard; “ I am one shut out and excommuni- 
cated from the affection and sympathy of his kind!^^ 

“ Never, Oswald!^' 

‘‘ I have asked for love, and it has been denied me,^^ 
said he, slowly; “ I have striven for peace, but the holy 
dove’s white wings will never brood upon my heart’s altar! 
What else is left for me?” 

‘‘ But, Oswald — ” 

“ Well?” 

“ Things are so different now; we are all so changed. 
We look at our lives through different mediums from those 
old times at White Oaks.” 

He advanced a step or two toward her, with eyes shining 
with sudden brilliance, and swarthy cheeks flushed with 
color. 

“ For God’s sake, Ohristabel,” said he, “ think what 
you are saying; do not lure a famishing soul on to its own 
destruction. Is it I that am different, or are you 

“ Not you, Oswald,” answered Ohristabel, almost fear- 
ing lest he should hear the loud beating of her heart; 
“ you ,are the same. It is 1 that have changed. 1 am 
wiser now; I have outgrown the girlish folly that was once 
a part of my nature, and 1 see now what was a sealed book 
to my eyes ten years ago.” 

“Is it your heart that is changed?” he asked, looking 
steadfastly into her eyes. “If I were to ask you to love 
me now, would you answer yes, Ohristabel?” 

“ I would, Oswald,” she answered, firmly. 

“ Then say yes, darling,” he uttered, in accents of 
strong emotion. “ Do you love me, Ohristabel? Let me 
hear it from your own lips, my heart’s love!” 

“ I love you, Oswald!” 

She spoke the words with her face hidden against his 
breast. He said nothing more for a second or two — the 
tide of his great happiness seemed enough for him. Pres- 
ently, however, he broke the dead, sweet silence again. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


291 


‘‘But, Christabel, I am a suspected mau; I live under 
the shadow of a constant cloud, he said. 

“ For all that, I love you, Oswald. 

He folded her tenderly to his heart~the heart that had 
been so tempest-tossed, so rocked to and fro with trouble 
and grief. 

“ Let what will come now,'’^ said he, huskily, “ nothing 
can ever vex me more. Your love, Christabel, and your 
trust, are all I want or need; I am rich at last beyond the 
power of human gift; but you, my love — the world will 
say that you have made but a poor bargain. 

She looked lovingly into his eyes. 

“You are my hero, Oswald,^^ she said, “my king 
among men; the world has no power to disturb my alle- 
giance.^^ 

He smiled back to her tender glance. 

“ My little love!’^ he said. “ Oh, God, is it not worth 
all the sea of trouble through which I have passed, to reach 
this serene haven at last?^^ 

“ Listen, Oswald, said Christabel, taking his hand into 
hers, and laying her cheek against it. “ i have helped to 
wreck your life and make you wretched — 1, a silly girl, 
who knew not the pearl of great price that was once offered 
to me. But, please Heaven! I will yet make atonement 
to you for all this.^^ 

“Atonement!^’ he repeated, smiling down into her 
eager, liquid eyes. “As if there was any needed. Well, 
but about our future life, Christabel? Shall we stay here, 
or shall we go to White Oaks, or shall we take our flight 
into the wilderness of the West, you and 1, my white 
dove?^^ 

“ Where would yoic rather go, Oswald?'^ 

“ My wishes are yours, Christabel.^' 

“ Then," said Christabel, softly, “ I would rather go to 
America with you, Oswald, I know you would be happier 


392 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


in your native land, and to me home will be where you 
are.^’ 

“ So let it be/’ said Oswald. “ You are a witch, Chris- 
tabel, to read my heart so correctly. We will deed back 
all this Carruthers property to Sidney, who should, by 
right, inherit it, and we will go together to the wide West. 
We shall not be rich, but we shall have a competence to 
live on; and 1 am sick of wealth and rank, and the daz- 
zling kaleidoscopic glitter of the world. With you by my 
side, dearest, life will have nothing left to desire.” 

“ Dear Oswald, how good and noble you are,” said the 
girl, looking up into his face with eyes that were almost 
adoring in their tender shine. 

“ /good and noble!” he repeated, smiling. “ Ah! 
that shows how little you know me, Christabel. Savage 
Carruthers is only anxious to shake off the fetters of con- 
ventional life and go back to his wildernesses. I have 
tried the gay world, and the gay world doesn’t suit me. 
And now I shall go back to my wigwam, with the rose of 
old England on my heart!” 


CHAPTER XXX. 
entrapped! 

The sunset light was dying out in the dismal and unin- 
viting angles of Portland Alleys. Overhead the sky was 
dappled with fleecy, roseate clouds; below all was squalor, 
dirt, and destitution. Mothers stood in door-ways, holding 
big-headed children in their arms; children of various 
larger sizes burrowed in gutters, and rolled perilously near 
the yawning dens of open cellar- ways, slatternly girls, 
with aprons over their heads, sallied to and fro on house- 
hold errands, and Hetty Piper herself, with her hair fresh 
curled, and a clean white dress on, leaned out of the third- 
story window, and hailed a passing acquaintance on the 
street, for a chance gossip. 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


293 


The second-floor lodger had opened both the windows, 
back and front, to admit the bland spring air and stand a 
minute breathing in the breeze which, even in passing 
through the impurities of a London back slum, could not 
lose all its invigorating oxygen. 

Gaspard Montini, wrapped in an old dressing-gown, and 
leaning feebly on a cane, was crawling to and fro through 
the rooms; he looked petulantly around at the touch of the 
soft breeze on his hollow cheek. 

“ What are you opening those windows for, Florine?” 
he demanded, petulantly. “ Do you want to kill me?^^ 

“ It will do you good, Gaspard,'’^ coaxed the girl. 
“ Here, take my arm. Try to walk a little now.^^ 

But he pushed her away so unceremoniously that she 
had nearly fallen against the wall. The quick tears sprung 
to her eyes in spite of herself, for all those weeks of watch- 
ing, and toil, and nervous strain had told on the system of 
the girl. 

“ Gaspard The one faltering word was all that she 
could utter. He turned sharply upon her. 

“ What are you whining at now?"’’ said he. “ You tire 
me to death with your everlasting whims and. caprices. ” 

She tried to smile. 

“Oh, Gaspard, don’t speak so,” said she. “Look 
kindly at me, just once? You said that you loved me be- 
fore — before this illness.” 

“ I may have said so,” he rejoined, gloomily. “ A man 
says a great many idiotic things in the course of his life. ” 

She laughed, poor thing, as if feigning to believe that 
he was in jest, and busied herself with putting away a few 
articles of dress that lay scattered over the floor. He 
watched her sulkily. 

“ Are you through with that?” he asked. 

“ Yes. Did I disturb you?” 

“ You always disturb me. Can’t you, by any possi- 
bility, sit still?"'’ 


294 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“You did not use to speak so, Gaspard,^^ cried out 
FJorine, in an agony of distress. “ Oh, tell me you do not 
mean it! Dear Gaspard, remember all that I have done 
for you.^^ 

“ All that you have done for me,^^ repeated he, iron- 
ically. “ What is it that you have done, when all is told? 
You have continued to keep me in' a world that I am sick 
of I Why did you not let me die? It had been by far the 
most merciful part.^’ 

“ I did not let you die, Gaspard, because you loved 
meT^ 

“ That is false, he retorted, with a sudden snarl. 

“ Because I loved you !” 

“ That may be nearer the truth. As for the other thing 
— I did not love you!” 

“ You said so!” 

“ Because you tormented me into it!” 

“ You promised to make me your wife!” 

“ 1 was a mad, reckless fool. I am wiser now that I 
have had time to think over the whole affair. Do you sup- 
pose I am going to fetter myself for life with a beggarly 
dancing-girl like you? No, 1 shall marry no one. The 
ghost of my dead love would never let me pledge myself to 
another. I loved her living, and I love her dead!” 

“ Oh, Gaspard, she never cared for you!” 

“ Liar, she did /” he shrieked out. 

“And I — oh, my love, my darling, I have saved your 
life!” pleaded poor Florrie, with the great tears running 
down her cheeks, as she knelt in an imploring attitude be- 
fore him. 

“ Did I not tell you it is a gift for which I do not ihank 
you? What is there left for me to live for, now that she is 
gone?” reiterated Montini. 

Sick at heart, Florine Dufour turned away, and allowed 
the sick man once more to resume his slow walk up and 
down the narrow room. It was not her first insight into 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


295 


the cold selfishness of the man for whom she had endured 
and sacrificed so much. By degrees the consciousness had 
been forcing itself upon her that her diamond was neither 
more nor less than paste — that the gold of her fond hopes 
was resolving itself into dry leaves! She had worshiped 
and looked up to Gaspard Montini as to some superior be- 
ing, and now she knew that she had all along been de- 
ceived and blinded. But never before had he flung ofl the 
mask as openly as this. 

She had given up all for him. She had saved his life, 
protected his name, held him up with all the force of a 
woman ^s truest, tenderest nature, and now he spurned her 
away from him with scorn and contumely, careless whether 
or not her poor heart broke. 

It is an ordeal through which women are often called 
upon to pass, but Florine was young and ardent, and to 
her it seemed little less than incredible that Gaspard Mon- 
tini could fling her allegiance away from him like this. 
And as she sat with clasped hands looking at him, her eyes 
tearless, and her heart feeling like a ball of fire within her, 
the remembrance of Derwent Bryan’s far different devo- 
tion seemed to flood her memory like a rushing tide. 

‘‘ He loved me,” she told herself. ‘‘ He endured every- 
thing from me, and loved me in spite of all.” 

Pale and silent she rose from her seat in a low chair near 
the window. 

“ Well,” he cried out, snappishly, “ what are you sulk- 
ing about now?” 

“lam not sulking, Gaspard!” 

“ Your face belies you, then. But 1 need not expect to 
get a straight answer from a woman. Where is any wine? 
Get me something. 1 feel faint. ” 

“ There is no wine left, Gaspard.” 

“ No wine! And this is the care you boast about,” 
sneered the tenor. “ Brandy, then!” 

“ The doctor says brandy is too stimulating, Gaspard.” 


296 


LOVE AKT) JEALOUSY. 


“ That^s nonsense. I know my necessities as well as 
that snuffling cat-fool doctor of yours. I tell you to give 
me some brandy, or I shall die of faintness, and this steal- 
ing deadness about my heart. 

Thus urged, Florine went to a three-cornered cupboard 
built into the angle of the chimney, and took out a flat 
wicker bottle. Montini’s eyes glistened greedily at sight 
of it. 

“ Give it here, my girl,’’ said he. “ Let me pour it 
out!” 

But Florine shook her head. 

“ My hand is steadier than yours,” said she, flrmly. 

* ‘ You grudge me a few drops of brandy?” 

“No, Gaspard, I only fear to disobey the doctor’s ex- 
press injunctions.” 

And giving him the tumbler that contained about a tea- 
spoonful of brandy in a gill of water, she replaced the 
wicker bottle in the cupboard. 

“You must have more wine, Gaspard,” said she, spirit- 
lessly, “ and the landlady needs a little money on account, 
and we have not as yet paid the doctor a cent. 1 must 
go out and see what 1 can do.” 

“ Where do you get all this money?” demanded Mon- 
tini, suspiciously. “ There seems to be no end to re- 
sources.” 

“ 1 sell a few little trinkets now and then,” answered 
Florine, evasively. 

“ You must have a gold mine at your control.” 

Florine did not reply. She was thinking how she had 
even turned thief to supply the needs of the man who 
sneered so cruelly at her now. 

“ I will not be gone very long, Gaspard,” said she, as 
she wrapped the old black cloak around her, “ and you 
had better lie down and try to rest until 1 come back. ” 

He threw himself upon the sofa, apparently overcome by 
weariness and exhaustion, and Florine sped out into the 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


297 


gathering twilight, with the other diamond of Gwyneth 
Vivian^s ear-pendant tightly held in her closed hand, un- 
der the folds of the cloak. 

During the last five minutes, Florine Dufour had come 
to a new and decisive conclusion — to leave the man who 
had ceased to care for her. Since his restoration to con- 
sciousness, she had been no less attentive than before; but 
she had withdrawn more into herself, spending the nights 
with Hetty Piper, and seeming once more to remember all 
the little conventionalities and social proprieties which she 
had flung to the four winds of heaven, while Gaspard^’s life 
was in danger. He had never known all that she had done 
for him ; he never would know now. 

“ I will not leave him until he is fully restored to 
health,^^ she thought; “ but when he is able to do without 
me — when he returns to his native Italy, he will not be 
burdened with the companion whose presence is odious to 
him. He has ceased to care for me, and now that the first 
cruel pangs of heart-break are over, I can see that all this 
may be for the best. The Gaspard that I loved is dead 
and buried in the past, and this cold and selfish man can 
never again take his place. 

But in spite of Florine^s enforced philosophy, there was 
an aching void within her — a sense of what might once 
have been, but would never be now. She had loved Gas- 
pard Montini with a deep, unfaltering allegiance which 
amounted to infatuation, and now that her idol was leveled 
to the dust, her solitary heart seemed to cry aloud for 
something to cling to, and twine itself around. 

She passed the light casement of Ezra Benjamin's estab- 
lishment without even pausing. She knew very well that 
it would not do to attempt two business transactions of the 
nature in which she was concerned at one place, and glid- 
ing swiftly along the dusk streets, she plunged at once into 
the labyrinthine tangle of courts, lanes, and alleys, never 
pausing until she had reached a new brick building where 


.298 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


a gin-shop and a pawnbroker’s brilliant windows jostled 
one another under the same red and green striped awn- 
ing. Pausing a second to reconnoiter the inside as seen 
through the low window, she plucked up courage to enter, 
and stated her business to a bald-headed man, who was 
yawning over a two days’ old newspaper back of the 
counter. 

He looked at the diamond first, then at her. 

“ 1 ain’t a judge of diamonds, miss,” said he, slowly; 
“ we don’t deal much down our way in that sort of thing.” 

And he turned the stone over and over between his fin- 
gers as he spoke. 

“ But you can surely advance me something on it?” 
cried Florine, hurriedly, as a clock on the wall struck 
seven, and she began to realize how long she had been gone 
from Portland Alley. 

“ My partner ain’t in just now, miss,” said he, and he 
knows a deal more about the value of precious stones than 
1 do. If you wouldn’t mind waiting just a few minutes, 
until he comes in from his supper, I — ” 

“ I can not wait,” cried Florine, in an agony of im- 
patience; “ please tell me what you can afford to give for 
it, and let me go.” 

The man blinked cunningly at her from under the shad- 
ow of his red eyebrows. 

“ Well, then,” said he, “ if 3 ^ou’re in such a hurry—” 

“ I am in a hurry; I have no time to wait.” 

“ I’ll just call in a friend next door as is a judge of 
these things, and he’ll put a value on the trinket for me. 
Sit down a minute, miss.” 

“ Stop!” said Florine; “ I prefer that the diamond 
should be left with me. 1 do nof: wish it to be taken out 
of my sight.” 

The pawnbroker chuckled. 

“ You’ve a neat idea of business, miss,” said he, “ and 
I don’t say you’re wrong. I’ll stay here myself, and send 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


299 


my errand lad for Mr. Donati, since you^re so particular 
about it. 

Calling a lean, weasel-faced boy from an adjoining room, 
where he was at work cleaning jewelry by the dim light of 
a kerosene lamp, he whispered a word or two in his ear. 
The lad nodded knowingly, and skimmed away, followed 
as far as the door by the proprietor of the establishment, 
who seemed to have some difficulty in adjusting the latch 
after his retreating figure. 

“ Will he be gone long?’^ said Florine, nervously. 

“ Not long, miss,^^ the man answered, briskly. “ It 
ain’t but a step. 

But Mr. Juddings — that was the name painted up in 
letters of varnished gilt above the door — must have com- 
puted a step as a considerable distance, judging from the 
length of time that his emissary remained absent. To * 
Florine Dufour, uneasy and excited, every second seemed 
to lag, and the ticking of the clock on the wall sounded 
like a knell repeating itself over and over. More than 
once she started up, resolving to wait no longer, but to 
take her wares elsewhere. But then, remembering the 
length of time that would be consumed by seeking out a 
new pawnshop and going through all the preliminaries 
with another salesman, she decided that it would be best 
to tarry yet a little longer. 

What does keep your boy?” she asked, impatiently, 
at last. It must be half an hour since he went.” 

“ Not so long as that, miss, I’m sure.” 

Look at the clock.” 

The pawnbroker glanced up at the tarnished dial of the 
ancient time-piece. 

“ Well, I declare,” said he. “ I hadn’t an idea it was 
so late. Donati must have gone out somewhere, and 
Billy’s waiting for him.” 

; “ But I can not stay here any longer,” said Florine, 


300 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


springing up, and holding out her hand. “ Give me the 
diamond, and let me go somewhere else.^^ 

“ He^ll be here now, miss, directly, soothed the man. 

“ Give me my diamond, I say!'^ repeated Florine, whose 
suspicions were now thoroughly aroused by this delay. 

“ There, said the pawnbroker. “I told you so. 
There^s no need to put yourself into the fidgets. Here he 
comes no w.^^ 

And at the same instant a tall man, with a long brown 
beard, loose curly hair of the same color, that almost 
touched his shoulders, and eyes concealed by blue goggles, 
came in, not through the street door, but by means of an- 
other entrance that communictaed with the back of the 
shop, and little Billy following close at his heels. He bent 
his ear to listen to one or two whispered words from the 
pawnbroker, then examined the diamond closely, and 
nodded his head. 

“ Is it what we want?^^ said Juddings, eagerly. 

He nodded again. 

“ How much shall 1 give?’' 

“ You might venture ten pounds on it,” the new-comer 
answered, in a scarcely audible tone. 

J uddings turned at once to Florine. 

“ My friend thinks I couldn’t afiord to give more than 
ten pounds,” said he. “ And if you’ve a mind to leave it 
for that — ” 

“ It is worth more than that,” said Florine, who had 
hoped in her secret heart for at least twice the money. 

“ It may be,” said Mr. Juddings. “ But it ain’t to us. 
The diamond business ain’t our regular line, and it gets us 
into trouble sometimes. The diamond brokers don’t like 
it, and if you shouldn’t chance to. redeem it, the chances 
are ten to one that we couldn’t realize on it. However, 
you can leave it or not, as you please. I ain’t anxious, 
and yet I won’t say no.” 

Florine pondered a minute. “ Yes,” said she, “ I will 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


301 


take it. And please let me have the money as quickly as 
you can.^^ 

The pawnbroker glanced inquiringly at his friend in the 
blue goggles, and then, receiving some signal of assent, 
counted out two crumpled five-pound notes from his money 
till, and gave them to Florine, together with the ticket he 
had been filling out during the absence of the small mes- 
senger. 

“ Let me open the door for you,’^ said he, darting for- 
ward. As he did so, Florine plainly heard the click of a 
key in its ward. She stopped short, with burning cheeks 
and tumultuously beating heart. 

Did you loch that door?^^ she asked. 

“ I often do, miss, this time of night when Fm alone in 
the place, said Juddings, apologetically, rubbing at his 
nose. “ Them plagued sneak thieves comes and goes like 
shadows, and it ainT safe to run no risks. No offense, 
miss, indeed. 

But Florine sped along the street, not believing a word 
he said. 

“ Am 1 getting suspicious of everybody and every- 
thing?^^ she asked herself, “or is it already true that I 
am hedged around by spies and informants? That man 
was false all through in everything he said and did! 1 
wonder — oh, I wonder what it means ?^^ 

Quickening her speed, she almost ran rather than 
walked in the direction of Portland Alleys. It was quite 
dark now, and a few stars were shining through the yellow 
fog overhead, by which mute signals Florine could partly 
judge how long she had been gone. 

She drew a long sigh of relief when at last she found 
herself once more in the familiar little street, close to the 
door of Mrs. Piper. But, as she paused an instant to feel 
for the key in her pocket, a hand fell on her shoulder, and 
a voice breathed in her ear: 

“ A good -evening to you, Florine Dufour!^’ 


302 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


And starting around, she found herself face to face with 
Derwent Bryan. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

‘‘I AM NOT AFKAID!^^ 

Strange to say, the girPs first impression was one of 
relief, almost pleasure. A second reflection, however, re- 
vealed to her the danger in which both she and Gaspard 
Montini stood from this unlooked-for encounter, and she 
shrunk away with a low cry: 

“ Derwent! Oh, Derwent 

“ So you are not glad to see me, eh?’’ said the ex- 
policeman, somewhat bitterly. “ Well, I might have ex- 
pected it, I suppose; but I should have been glad to see 
you, Florine, wherever and whenever it might have been. 
We’re different, it seems! Don’t be in such a confounded 
hurry, girl; you’re out of breath already!” 

“ How did you find me out?” she asked, looking at him 
as a frightened deer brought to bay might eye her triumph- 
ant hunter. 

“Followed you, my dear, all the way from old Jud- 
dings’s, and a pretty chase you led me!” 

“ Were you—” 

“ I was Mr. Juddings’s friend. The rum ol(J customer 
in brown beard and eyeglasses,” nodded Bryan, with a 
smile. 

“ And I never recognized you!” 

“ I don’t generally intend to be recognized, my dear, 
when I’ve made up my mind to personate some one else. 
Come, Florine, where have you hidden that man?’ 

“ What man?” 

“ Gaspard Montini, of course. The man who murdered 
Mrs. Carruthers.” 

She would have sprung away but that his grasp was on 
her arm, gentle, but firm as iron. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


303 


Oh, Derwent she cried out, in an agony of entreaty, 
“ spare him! You donH know what he has suffered! 
You don’t know what a shattered wreck he is! Spare 
him! oh, spare him!” 

Bryan’s face darkened into sullen resolve. 

“ I know what all this means,” said he, savagely. 
“ You love him yet! The spell is over you still.” 

“ I do not love him!” flashed out Florine. 

“ Florine! Are you telling me the truth, or is this 
only one of the lies that you women tell by thousands to 
shield the man they care for most?” cried out Derwent 
Bryan, with a strong thrill quivering all through his 
frame. 

“ I did love him once,” said Florine, sadly, averting her 
eyes. “1 do not now. He has worn all that out long 
ago. Here is where we live. There is no use trying 
further to conceal matters from you.” 

No,” said Bryan, quietly, ‘‘ there is none. I should 
track that man out were he to burrow into the innermost 
depths of the earth, or hide under the deepest caverns of 
the sea. Tell me one thing flrst, Florine — are you mar- 
ried to him?” 

No,”* answered the girl, with her face still turned 
away. “We were to have been married and gone to Italy 
when he was well again. We never shall be now!” 

“Why not?” 

“ Do not ask me why, Derwent!” she passionately cried 
out. “ I would not marry him if there was not another 
man in the world. I have seen too much of his cold, cruel 
Italian nature. But, Derwent, I can not betray him, even 
to you! Promise me that — ” 

The sentence was yet unspoken on her lips, when the 
sharp, quick report of a pistol from within rent the air. 
Florine uttered a shriek. 

“ My God!” she cried; “ it is Gaspard!” 

Tearing her hand from Bryan’s slackened grasp, she 


304 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


flew into the house and up the narrow stairway, closely fol- 
lowed by the detective. But as she opened the door she 
shrunk back with a cry of terror, for there, on the uncar- 
peted floor, weltering in his own blood, lay Gaspard Mon- 
tini, with a pistol in his hand, and the death agony con- 
vulsing his features. 

To explain this unexpected culmination of events, we 
must go back to the time when Florine left her recreant 
lover alone in the dismal room, as she set forth to try and 
dispose of another of the stolen diamonds. 

Montini’s quick eye had perceived the fact that the key 
of the corner cupboard, instead of being bestowed as usual 
in Florine^s pocket, had fallen down between the lower and 
upper skirts of her dress to the floor, close to the base- 
board that extended around the apartment. With the 
cunning that is almost inseparable from semi-insanity, he 
had flung an old newspaper down to hide it, in order that 
she might not discover and repossesses herself of it; and 
no sooner was she fairly on her way down the street, than 
he greedily opened the repository, and possessed himself of 
the much-coveted wicker bottle of brandy, a stimulant 
that had been expressly forbidden by the physician in the 
patient’s present weak state of mind and body. But Mon- 
tini, like many another habitue of the stage, had acquired 
an inordinate fondness for spirituous drinks, which had 
grown rather than diminished by the enforced abstinence 
of his illness. Florine had steadfastly refused to gratify 
his morbid longing for brandy, or rum, or even gin. He 
had, for once, outgeneraled Florine, and, chuckling to 
himself, he poured out the amber liquid, and set down to 
carouse during her absence at his own will and pleasure. 

But the fiery liquid, which at first slipped over his pal- 
ate like velvet, ministering to every craving sense, and lap- 
ping him in a sort of Elysium, soon passed the limits of 
mere sensual gratification, and mounted to his brain, a 
flood of fire. Past, present, and future seemed mingled in 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


305 


his seething consciousness; remorse, despondency, and 
fictitious excitement alternately lifted and depressed his 
mind. 

“Gwyneth! Gwyneth he cried, aloud, extending his 
arms toward the flicker of the street-lamp, on the opposite 
wall. “It is my Gwyneth — my lost love! It is she, 
beckoning to me. Wait, darling! wait! 1 am coming! 
The man is a mere coward who lives on when all his life 
and heart have passed before him into the unseen world !^^ 

He remembered having seen upon the cupboard shelf 
when he took out the fatal wicker bottle, a pistol, looped 
with blue velvet ribbon, which had been part of his stage 
make-up on the night when he fell senseless with his man- 
dolin on his breast, a pistol which he himself never had 
suffered to be without a charge, for Gaspard Montini^s 
Italian nature was always on the outlook for ambush or 
secret treachery, and trusted neither man, woman, nor 
child. Seizing the pistol, he staggered half-way toward 
the glimmering reflection on the wall, which he vaguely 
fancied to be the beckoning arm of his lost love, calling 
him away, and placing the cold muzzle against his breast, 
fired, crying out: 

“ Yes, yes, Gwyneth, I come! I come!” 

The confusion that ensued defies description. The room 
was crowded almost in a second. But first at the side of 
the dying man knelt Florine Dufour, with his head on her 
knee, while Derwent Bryan tried to catch the meaning of 
the almost unintelligible murmurs that came, ever and 
anon, from his purple lips. 

“ Tell me one thing,” said Derwent Bryan, stooping so 
that his lips were on a level with Montini^s ear; “ was it 
you that shot Mrs. Carruthers?” 

There was no answer. Montini’s glazing eye evinced 
neither knowledge nor comprehension of what was going 
on around him. 


306 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Try ‘ Gwyneth/ "" whispered Florine, who was herself 
trembling like a leaf. 

“ Was it you that shot Gwyneth?^^ once more questioned 
the detective. 

Once more a gleam of intelligence brightened up the 
face that was so like death already. 

“ Yes/^ he answered, with one last upward flicker of 
the flame of life, “ I shot her! 1 would do it again! She 
— she is all mine now! No one can take her — 

And then the blood bubbled up into his throat, and he 
sunk back — dead! 

“We should have had a deposition before a magistrate,^' 
said Bryan, as he rose slowly to his feet, and drew Florine 
away. 

“ Why?" she asked, pressing one hand against her heart. 

“ To clear the innocent from unmerited suspicion. To 
decide the mystery of who killed Mrs. Oswald Carruthers." 

“ There is no necessity for that," said Florine, speaking 
with an effort. “ 1 saw him do it!" 

“ You! You saw him shoot that hapless woman?" 

“ I saw him," admitted Florine. “Yes, 1 will tell you 
the truth now, Derwent Bryan, though wild horses should 
not have wrenched it from me while Gaspard Montini was 
alive. Yes, I stood in the window that opened on the lit- 
tle balcony above the front door in Delavan Place, that 
night I had seen Signor Montini go away. I watched to 
see him walk down the street. 1 was infatuated then," 
with a little bitter laugh. “ But he did not go down the 
street. He lingered in the opposite gate-way — the brick 
arch of the carriage door. He waited there — and I waited 
behind the heavy silken curtain, both of us still, noiseless 
shadows! And while I stood there Mrs. Carruthers ran 
down-stairs, in a sort of disguise, and rushed out of the 
door. He started forward then, but he stepped back into 
the darkness again — and a second time we both waited! 
God help me, it is all as fresh as yesterday in my mind! 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


307 


Pretty soon she came flying along as if there was an aveng- 
ing spirit behind her, and then — then he fired, and she fell 
like a log! 1 knew it all. 1 saw it all! But he never 
thought it was she. She wore Miss Vivian^s cloak, and it 
was Miss Vivian he meant to shoot down, because she had 
trifled with him, and he was mad with jealousy! And to 
this hour — this minute — he believed that he had murdered 
Miss Vivian, not Mrs. Carruthers! If you need a deposi- 
tion before a magistrate, mine will be all-sufficient.^^ 

And she pressed her hand before her eyes a second, as if 
to shut out some haunting scene that would not be ban- 
ished. 

“ Now, Derwent, said she, “ you know all. Let me 
go!” 

“ Stop,^^ said he, quietly, as the two stood apart from 
the little crowd around the corpse. ‘‘ The diamonds, that 
you stole from Delavan Place?^^ 

I have pawned the ear-rings, said Florine, apparent- 
ly in nowise astonished at his comprehension of all that 
had so lately transpired. ‘‘ The bracelet is here !” 

Taking a little paper parcel from her bosom, she gave it 
to him. 

‘‘And now,^^ said she, bitterly, “1 suppose it only re- 
mains for you to arrest me?^^ 

“ Do you think 1 would do that, Florine?^^ 

“ Why not?"’ she flashed out. “I am a thief. I con- 
fess it myself— but I did it all for hm ! He was suffering 
for the delicacies, the positive necessaries that money alone 
would buy, and I had no money. I would have coined my 
heart’s blood for him, but heart’s blood is not negotiable,” 
with a hard laugh. “ 1 could only sell my truth and turn 
thief for his sake, and I did it willingly. What woman in 
my place would not do the same? And now I must abide 
the consequences.” 

“ Florine, you told me, once before, that you cared for 
him no longer !’' said Bryan. 


308 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ I spoke the truth! I — 1 believe I hate him now!^^ 

“ Come out into the fresh air, Florine; this blood- 
freighted atmosphere is suffocating you. Here, take my 
arm. 

He drew her gently away; she complied without an 
effort at resistance. 

“You are not willing to let me out of your sight, said 
she, half defiantly. 

“No, I am not,^^ he answered. “If I had my own 
will, Florine Dufour, I would never let you out of my sight 
again. Little Florine, don^t you know that I love you?^’ 

His voice had lowered to a key of infinite tenderness; he 
drew her close to his side as they paused on the stairway; 
she looked up at him with surprise. 

You loved me once,^’ she said, in a low tone, “ hut I 
have forfeited all that now! 1 must expect to pay the 
penalty of my own mad folly.” 

“ I loved you once, Florine,” said the detective, “ and I 
shall love no one else to my dying day. Listen to me, 
Florine, 1 believe you to be as good and pure as one of 
God^s angels, but if you had even been the cast-off toy of 
that Italian — ” 

“ I never was!” she gasped, clasping her hands and 
looking appealingly up into his face. “ So help me 
Heaven, I never was!” 

“ Do you suppose I do not know that, little one? I said 
i/— only if. Even in that case, 1 should have loved you 
still. I do love you!” 

“A thief? a condoner of murder? a dancing girl?” 

“ Whatever you are, you are still my Florine, and I love 
you! Oh, my darling,” and his strong voice quivered in 
its passionate earnestness, “ is the devotion of a man^s 
whole life to count for nothing with you? Can not you 
forget this dreary, blighting past, and give yourself to me? 
I want you, Florine; I must have you!” 


LOVE JEALOUSY. 


309 


With a wild sob of mingled pain and yearning, she laid 
her head on his shoulder. 

Take me,^^ she said. “Just as I am — a wild, un- 
tutored, reckless girl — but a girl whose heart is as pure yet 
as one of the Holy Virgin’s lilies. ” 

“ And you will try to love me, darling?” 

“It will net be a hard task, Derwent,” she answered, 
with a shy, upward glance. 

And so flinging aside all the theories and lessons of 
every-day experience, the detective took Florine Dufour to 
his heart — Florine, all of whose faults and follies had 
sprung from the reckless and generous devotion of her 
royal nature. 

“ You are running a terrible risk, Derwent,” she said, 
half smiling, half in tears. 

“ I am not afraid of it,” said the ex-policeman. 


CHAPTEE XXXII. 

MOTHER BEMOIT REVEALS A SECRET. 

Scarcely a week had elapsed since the spring evening 
upon which Gaspard Montini passed unsummoned and un- 
prepared into the presence of his Maker, and Florine Du- 
four was sitting in the little back parlor at Mrs. Hether- 
ege’s, sewing on her wedding-dress. 

It had been an eventful week, however. During its 
course the lost diamonds had been returned to Eosse Vava- 
sor, and the specified reward of two hundred pounds deliv- 
ered over to the firm of Bryan & Brunei. 

“ I wish you could have apprehended the thief for me as 
well,” said the banker, as he filled out the check and 
handed it to Mr. Bryan across the counter. 

“We can’t always do as we like, sir,” said Bryan, 
stolidly. 

“You have no suspicions whatever as to the identity of 
the thief?” pursued Vavasor. 


310 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Suspicions are hardly evidence, sir.^^ 

“ Confidentially, now, between us two?^^ said Mr. Vava- 
sor, with a lowered voice and an insinuating expression of 
countenance. 

“ Upon my word, sir,^’ pleaded the detective, I 
wouldn^t like to express myself on the subject. I never 
do speak unless I am prepared to substantiate my words. 
It isn't safe!" 

“And yet," said Mr. Vavasor, evidently somewhat dis- 
appointed, “ your house has the character of untangling 
this kind of knot quicker and more thoroughly than almost 
any other in London. " 

“ We do have that name, sir, 1 believe," said Mr. Bryan, 
folding the slip of gray paper and depositing it carefully in 
his pocket-book. ‘ ‘ But there's some mysteries that are 
doomed to remain mysteries until the end of the chapter, 
and it's my belief this is one of 'em. You have got your 
diamonds back again, sir, and, if I may make bold, I'd 
advise you to be content with that much of success. " 

“ I shall have to, I suppose," said Mr. Vavasor, with a 
sigh. And Derwent Bryan took his share of the banker's 
reward to furnish a pretty little cottage in St. Mark's 
Road for the reception of the girl who was so soon to be- 
come his wife. 

Florine Dufour's testimony, formally lodged before a 
magistrate, had also been communicated to Oswald Car- 
ruthers. Apparently it moved him very little. 

“ Of course, one likes to be legally exonerated," said he 
to Sidney; “ but as long as Christabel reposed faith in me^ 
I don't think I cared much for the opinion of the rest of 
the world. " 

Gwyneth Vivian, however, was deeply affected at discov- 
ering the fact that her sister had in reality died from the 
effects of her own— Gwyneth's— mad folly and coquetry. 
She was not sorry to hear of the decease of the man whom 
she secretly feared and dreaded, but she thanked Provi- 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


311 


dence that Mr. Vavasor was not unnecessarily desirous 
about all these little details. 

‘^Once married to him, I shall be beginning the world 
again/^ she told herself, with a longing for the crisis to be 
past that grew daily more intense and earnest. ‘‘ I shall 
be leaving behind me these gloomy pages of my past life, 
never to be opened again. I could never have reconciled 
myself to stay here as the guest of Christabel Fane, and as 
for Sid, it would be still more impossible to accept his hos- 
pitality. He and 1 never did get on together, and we 
never shall. 

And so by a curious coincidence, it chanced that Miss 
Vivian and Florine Dufour were to be married on the same 
day, now about a fortnight distant. The wedding of Os- 
wald Carruthers and Christabel Fane was fixed for a 
period even later — the eve of their journey to America, 
whither Sidney was to accompany them, returning to 
Europe, in charge of his tutor, in the fall. 

Mrs. Hetherege had cheerfully welcomed Florine Dufour 
back into her domestic circle on learning that she was so 
soon to become her brother's wife. 

“ And trust my word for it, you're going to have one of 
the best husbands that ever walked this earth, Florine," 
said Mrs. Hetherege, nodding her head. “ Though, to be 
sure, I never really supposed he would fancy a chit of a 
thing like you. " 

Florine smiled over her work. “ Indeed," said she, “ 1 
can hardly understand it myself. But truly, Mrs. Heth- 
erege, I will try and be a good wife to him, and deserve 
the great gift of his love. " 

Mrs. Hetherege had gone out to match a shade of pearl- 
colored silk for her wedding-hat. The two Misses Heth- 
erege were practicing the “ Swiss Waltz," arranged as a 
duet, on the piano upstairs, with all their might and main, 
and Florine was stitching busily away at the window. 


313 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


thinking of the peaceful future in store for her, when 
Molly, the little servant-maid, opened the door. 

“ Miss Dufour,^^ said, she, with a look that was half 
scared and wholly uncertain, “ there’s an old woman been 
asking for you!” 

“ Ah,” said Florine, carelessly. “ I dare say it’s Mrs. 
Piper. Tell her to come in. ” 

“ She didn’t give her name, miss.” 

“ Well, never mind. Tell her to come in.” 

And Florine looked up, fully expecting to behold the 
reticent countenance of the mistress of the Portland Alleys 
lodging-house. But, to her surprise, it was the yellow 
countenance and grinning, toothless jaws of no less a per- 
son than old Mother Benoit of graceless memory, that 
presented themselves to her inquiring gaze. She started 
up with the air of one who shrunk back from an impend- 
ing blow. 

Truly, it was not a very inviting spectacle. Mother 
Benoit was as wrinkled and cadaverous as ever, and age 
had not in any respect improved the style or quality of her 
attire, while her elf locks were only half tucked into a sort 
of frilled alpaca hood that she wore, and the skirts of her 
gown were tattered and frayed with much dragging 
through the streets. 

“ Well, my girl,” said this old female, rubbing her 
hands, as she looked complacently around the room. “ So 
I’ve found you at last, and a pretty nice time I’ve had of 
it, inquiring round from pillar to post — huiSed and buffed 
hither and yon, fit to drop down with fatigue. And I 
never should have tracked you if it hadn’t been for Gabe 
Gibbins seeing you buying silk at a counter in Oxford 
Street, as fine as a fiddle, only day afore yesterday, and 
telling me where he heard you order the cabman to drive. 
I can’t afford to scoot round the country in cabs,” with a 
deep sigh, that flavored the room strongly with mingled 
rum and onions. 


LOVE ANi) jealousy. 


313 


“ What are you here for?’’ demanded Florine, in a voice 
that betrayed her strong aversion to the old woman’s i^res- 
ence. “ If it is to beg, I certainly shall not begin that sort 
of thing. 

“ Here’s gratitude!” cried out the old woman, with a 
sort of howl, as she rolled her eyes ceiling ward. “ After 
all the trouble and tramp I’ve had finding you!” 

“ I should not have regretted it much if you had not 
found me,” retorted Florine. 

‘‘ Hain’t you any natural sense of duty left?” whined 
Mother Benoit. To me, your own grandmother!” 

Florine looked up quickly. 

“ I don’t believe you are my grandmother,” said she. 

‘‘ I am, though,” nodded the old woman. And 1 can 
prove it! Your own mother’s mother, Florine Dufour.” 

“ Well, what then?” impatiently questioned the young 
girl, twirling a pair of scissors around and around in her 
hands. “ What have you ever done for me? Except to 
beat, and cuff, and bully me when I was a starved child, 
shrinking away a dozen times a day from your uplifted 
fist!” 

Mother Benoit wagged her head, and lifted both her 
hands, as if in appeal to some unseen familiar spirit. 

“ Florine Dufour all over,” said she, chuckling and 
mouthing. “ Your mother’s own daughter! With never 
a grain of thankfulness about you!” 

“I loved my mother!” said Florine, passionately. 

Yes, 1 did love her! But you — you let her die, and 
never shed a tear!” 

“ As if 1 could help the hand of Providence,” croaked 
the old hag. “You loved her, then, dearie! And can’t 
ye love your poor old granny a little?” 

“No, I can’t,” brusquely answered Florine. “And I 
don’t think 1 shall try.” 

“Just listen to that, now,” groaned Mother Benoit. 


314 


LOVE AKE JEALOUSY. 


“And me her own mother’s mother, too! Oh, wella- 
day, welladay, it’s no more than I might have expected!” 

“ What have you ever done for me?” repeated Florine. 
“ Why should I care for you more than for any one else?” 

“Ah!” retorted Mother Benoit, “but you don’t know 
yet, dearie, what I can do for you! I’m a witch, my 
dearie, a regular fairy godmother, with gifts to bestow on 
them as is deservin’!” 

“You’d better bestow some of them on yourself, I 
should suppose,” said Florine, indifferently. But Mother 
Benoit held up her finger in a listening attitude. 

“ Hush!” said she. “ Who’s that coming?” 

“ The man I am to marry,” said Florine, a new light 
glittering in her eyes. 

“ The policeman?” said Mother Benoit, wagging her 
head knowingly. “ Aha, my dearie, you see I’ve picked 
up a morsel or gossip here and there.” 

“Yes,” said Florine, proudly, “the policeman. The 
best and noblest man in the world!” 

Mother Benoit sneered. 

“ A — 'policeman /” said she. “ Your mother’s daugh- 
ter to throw herself away on a — policeman!” 

“ If he were the king I could not honor him more, or 
love him better,” said Florine, valiantly. 

“ You’ve been a long time finding it out, haven’t you?” 
scoffed the old hag. 

Florine ’s head drooped — the deep color rose to her 
cheek. 

“ More shame to me,” she said, impulsively. “ 1 have I 
But he is not to blame because 1 have been a blind fool.” 

“Don’t talk that way about 7n'y little girl!” said a 
cheery voice in the door-way, and Derwent Byran came in, 
fresh, hale, and breezy, from the outer air. “I heard 
what you last said to old Benoit, my lassie, and I honor 
you for it. And, please God, you shall never repent the 
trust you have put in me? As for you, old lady,” turn- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


315 


ing, with the old watchful look on his face, to Mother 
Benoit, “ I can^t say that Pm ready to give you much 
more of a welcome than Florine here is!” 

“ Ah, but you haven't heard yet what I've got to say,'' 
croaked the old woman. “You're a business man, and 
you’ll understand what I mean better than she does! 
\Yill you listen? Come!” 

“Oh, yes; I will listen, if you don’t spin it out too 
long,” said Derwent Bryan, sitting down on the old 
chintz-covered lounge in the window, and putting his arm 
composedly around Florine's trim little waist. “ Go on, 
old lady, though stay — it might explain matters a little bit 
if you were just to tell us where you've kept yourself these 
fourteen or fifteen months.” 

“Just like your prying ways,” snarled the old crone, 
“ peeping and poking into what's nobody's business but 
one's own. But I've been nowhere I'm ashamed of. The 
last six months I've been in a ‘ Home.' They told me it 
was a good place for old bodies like me, as hadn't much 
left to ask of the world, so I thought I'd give it a try. 
But there was two mistakes they made. I hadn't got alto- 
gether through with this world just yet. That was num- 
ber one. And I didn't relish the goody-goody sort of life 
they led there. That was number two. It's like molasses 
every day, one tires of it. So one day I showed 'em a 
clean pair of heels afore anybody was up in the morning, 
and pretty early I had to be stirring, too,” with a grin, 
“ for- morning prayers began as soon as it was fairly light, 
drat 'em!” 

“ And before that?” asked Bryan, shrewdly. 

“Where I was afore that don’t matter to nobody,” 
promptly responded Mother Benoit. “ Ask me no ques- 
tions, I’ll tell you no lies. But wherever I was,” fumbling 
for something in the bosom of her dress, “ I kept this safe 
and sound, Florine Dufour— -the marriage lines of your 
mother to the grand gentleman. Sir Kupert Fane, of Fane 


316 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Court. And the certificate of your baptism at the Church 
of the Holy Sepulcher, in the Rue St. Vivienne, Paris. 
Mr. A 67, what do you think of that?” 

“ 1 think it^s a most preposterous lie, got up to extort 
blackmail,^’ coldly answered Derwent, without a change in 
the muscles of his face, although Florine started forward, 
and her color varied. “ And I think if you set many such 
stories in circulation, you^ll fetch up in a stone cell, with 
bread and water three times a day.’^ 

All this time the old hag had been smoothiug the bits of 
worn and crumpled paper on her knee, with a loving and 
careful hand. Suddenly she extended them to Bryan. 

‘‘ Look at ^em,^'’ said she. “ You ought to be a judge 
of such things. Ain^t they all ship-shape and proper?'^ 
Derwent Bryants keen eye scrutinized the yellowed and 
time-worn papers with an eagle gaze. The papers which 
recorded, first, the marriage, on June 22d, 18 — , at Paris, 
France, of Rupert Fane, Kent, England, to Pauline 
Gerome, of the former place; secondly, the baptism of 
Florine, infant daughter of the above, born April 2d, 18 — . 

“ Yes,^' said he, after he had read them twice over, 
“ they seem correct enough — but — 

“ Yes, yes, 1 know,’^ interrupted Mother Benoit, claw- 
ing up the precious documents once more, as if fearful lest 
some injury might accrue to them. “ How did it all hap- 
pen, and why didnT I produce ^em afore! That^s what 
youT’e a-goin^ to say, ainT it? But just you wait and 
hear. One thing at a time. Pll begin at the beginning. 
AVe lived at Paris, me and my gal, when first we set eyes 
on that grand English gentleman as was destined to bring 
so much trouble on us all. I laundried laces, and Pauline 
sung in the choruses at the Sante Croce Theater. That 
was where Sir Rupert saw her. He was a widower then, 
and he fell in love with my blue-eyed gal, when she was 
scattering fiowers, and singing on tjie stage. And if you 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 317 

could ha’ seen her then, you wouldn’t ha’ wondered. She 
was rare pretty, my Pauline!” 

“ But,” interposed Bryan, “ you are not Franch?” 

“No, but my husband was. I am English, but I came 
to Paris as lady’s-maid, and 1 married Pierre Gerome. He 
died when Panline was four years old, and a deal better off 
I was without him, a drinking, lazy hound. AVell! Where 
was I? Oh! he fell in love with my Pauline, and married 
her within three weeks. Of course he was a fool— all En- 
glishmen are, when they fall in love. No Frenchman 
would have done anything of the kind. Well, Sir Rupert 
and my Pauline were as different as oil and water. He 
was jealous and exacting — she was gay as a butterfly; and 
one night when she had been receiving the attention of a 
young army officer at a ball — one of Sir Rupert’s friends? 
too — there was some kind of a quarrel. I never knew how 
or what it was, and he left Paris and his bride. I would 
have followed him, but Pauline would not let me. She, 
too, was filled with deep resentment — she vowed revenge. 
‘ He had flung her off,’ she said, ‘ with undeserved re- 
proaches and railings. He should never see her more.’ 
So she went back to the stage, under her old name. Six 
months after, when you were born, Florine, I made an- 
other try. But 1 thought she would have murdered me. 
‘Ask help of him?’ she said. ‘ I would rather die first.’ 
Well, we knocked around the world. We starved and 
feasted by turns. Sometimes you was dragged around 
with us — sometimes you was boarded in the country; some- 
times Pauline loathed the sight of you, as if you was 
poison; sometimes she couldn’t abide to have you away 
from her, till at last she began to fail — she never was 
extra strong at the best — and then it seemed to break 
upon her, all of a sudden, that when she was gone, 
you would be left alone and without a protector. 
And then she gave an unwilling consent to seeking Sir 
Rupert. Well, we tracked hini out. We canie down to 


318 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Fane Court, and saw his beautiful daughter — your half- 
sister, Florine, walking under the trees like a princess, 
while you was in rags in a London court. Sir Rupert 
Fane wasn^t at home, but we got his London address. I 
was bound follow him to the end of the world if need 
was. On the way up to London we lost the address. 
That same night Pauline died. Somehow it seemed as if 
her life was worn to a thread, and the thread snapped sud- 
denly, when we least expected it; but I didn^t give up. I 
had possession of these papers at last — papers she never 
would give me, or Vd ha’ made use of ’em long ago. I’d 
tried, often enough, but she wore ’em in a bag around her 
neck, and never would part with ’em, night nor day. 
Well, when she was dead and buried 1 tried again. I went 
down to Fane Court, but it was all pulled to pieces by 
some city gent that had bought it. Sir Rupert had moved 
away, and lay dead at White Oaks. I was just in time to 
look at him in his coffin. 1 made up my mind that I 
would appeal to his daughter, but, coming away, I got into 
trouble. Then they got me into the Home. 1 didn’t 
want to go there, but I couldn’t help myself without rais- 
ing unnecessary suspicion. There I’ve been since. To-day 
I walked by the house in Delavan Place, where Miss Fane 
lives. I saw her come out in velvet and sables, and enter 
her fine carriage, while I — I, her half-sister’s grandmother, 
groveled in the gutters, and held out my hand for stray 
pennies. Now you know all. You are Miss Fane’s half- 
sister, Florine Dufour. You’ve as much right to the 
satins, and diamonds, and long ostrich plumes as she has. 
Go to her. Take these papers. Claim your rights!” 

Florine who had listened to these strange disclosures 
with startled eyes and incredulous face, turned instinctive- 
ly to Derwent Bryan. 

“ Derwent,” said she, is it true? Tell me. I do not 
know what to think, or what to believe.” 

I think it is true/’ he answered, slowly. “ These 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


319 


papers are certainly correct. 1 can telegraph to the Paris 
authorities for their official confirmation, and if they prove 
all they seem — 

“What am I to do, then? Oh, Derwant, it seems ^o 
strange — so unreal. 

“ Then you must go to Mrs. Fane and tell her all.^^ 

She turned quickly and looked into his face. 

“ Derwent, why do you speak so strangely? What is 
it?’^ she asked, breathlessly. 

“ Don’t you see, my darling?” he cried out, clinching 
his hand involuntarily and setting his teeth like one in 
mortal pain. “ Can’t you comprehend that Sir Eupert 
Fane’s daughter will be lifted into a new world? — a world 
above that in which the poor detective has his life and 
being? You will gain much, Florine, but, my God help 
me, I shall lose everything /” 

Florine turned to her grandmother. 

“ Give me the papers,” said she. 

But Mother Benoit withheld her hand. 

“ What are you going to do with ’em?” she questioned, 
suspiciously. 

“ Tear them up. Do you suppose I want them, or care 
for them, if they are to part me from the one person in all 
the world that 1 care for? the one person in all the world 
that has cared for me, and loved me, through evil report 
and good?” 

“ My darling! My little love!” A moisture suffused 
the eyes of Derwent Bryan as she nestled her head against 
his shoulder, and put both her hands into his — a huski- 
ness rose into his throat. 

“ Do you really prefer me to wealth and rank and high 
degree?” he questioned. 

“ Yes,” she answered, simply — and in that one sentence 
Derwent Bryan felt that he had won his rich reward for 
all those many years of waiting. 

Mother Benoit rose sharply. . 


320 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“You are a fool, Florine,^^ said she, “ but your mother 
was a fool before you. I shall take good care to keep these 
papers in my own possession, 1 can tell you that 

“ Then keep them!^^ recklessly retorted Florine. “ They 
are nothing to me! I have got all 1 care for here,^’ lifting 
her blue-gray eyes, swimming with limpid softness, to 
Derwent Bryan’s face. 


CHAPTEE XXXllI. 

“king LEAR.” 

“ Is Mr. Vavasor at home? Mr. Eosse Vavasor?” 

The man in plain black clothes who opened the door of 
the banker’s great house in Windlay Street looked dubious- 
ly at the seedy individual who stood on the threshold pro- 
pounding the above inquiry. Nor was his hesitating glance 
uncalled for. The person seemed to hover on the debat- 
able ground between gentleman and blackleg, and the 
servant’s experienced eye did not fail to take note of the 
details of his coat, threadbare at the edges and glossy at 
the seams, the waistcoat buttoned to the throat, with not 
even a glimpse of any sort of linen, the battered hat, and 
the greasy gloves, through which the finger-ends protrud- 
ed. His face wore the unnatural bloom which suggests an 
immoderate use of stimulants, his iron-gray hair stood in 
sore need of the barber’s art, and his watery eyes cor- 
responded with the odor of cheap brandy that hung about 
him. 

“He is at home, sir,” the man answered, hesitatingly; 
“ but he is particularly engaged. I don’t think he can see 
any one at present. ” 

The visitor felt in his pocket for a half crown, and 
winked solemnly at the man. 

“ He’ll see me, I think,” said he. “ Tell him my busi- 
ness is very particular indeed speaking the words with 
emphasis. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


321 


The servant pocketed the coin. “ Thankee, sir,^’ said 
he. “ 1^11 see what 1 can do. Please to wait a minute, 
while I see Mr. Vavasor ^s own man. 

The footman had pointed to a tall, Gothic-backed chair 
in the hall, but the stranger, stealing past it, walked into 
a large reception-room, whose door stood open on the 
right, and seated himself on a pink satin divan, opposite a 
malachite table loaded with books and periodicals. The 
man followed him, not without a doubtful glance at a 
small gold -mounted card-receiver on the mantel and a sil- 
ver butterfly, whose wings of blue enamel served as a re- 
ceptacle for notes, addresses, and billets. 

“ This way, please, sir,^^ said he. 

“ No matter, my man, no matter,^^ said the stranger, 
benignantly. “ Td just as soon wait here. Only don^t be 
all day about it! My time is of value. 

Mr. Vavasor was in his own room giving audience to a 
jeweler, who had brought several sets of precious stones for 
him to choose a fitting bridal gift for the girl who was so 
soon to become his wife, and Miss Eegina had been sum- 
moned to aid the decision with her feminine taste and judg- 
ment. Two Russia leather cases lay open on the table, one 
containing a set of very large pearls, the other a glistening 
parure of sapphires, whose blue scintillations almost daz- 
zled the eyes. 

“You think she would prefer the sapphires, then, Re- 
gina.^^^ said the banker, doubtfully. 

“ I think there can be no sort of doubt on the ques- 
tion, Miss Vavasor answered. “ She was always partial 
to blue — and these stones are superb. And then look at 
the exquisite setting of dead gold!^’ 

“Very well, said Vavasor. “Let the sapphires be 
sent to No. — , Delavan Place,^^ to the jeweler who bowed 
obsequiously. And then, turning to his sister, he added 
kindly: “You will oblige me, Regina, by accepting the 
pearls for yourself. 


322 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


Miss Vavasor’s face flushed with delight. 

“Oh, Kosse,” said she, ‘"you are too kind. I never 
saw finer pearls in my life.” 

“lam glad you are pleased,” said the banker. “ What 
is it, Dennis?” to the servant who appeared apologetically 
at the door. “ A person to see me? Did you not tell him 
1 was engaged?” with contracting brows. 

“ If you please, Mr. Vavasor, he says his business is very 
patricular, indeed, and he won’t detain you a minute,” 
said the man, glibly improving upon the message with 
which he was charged. 

“ Where is he?” 

“ In the reception-room, Mr. Vavasor.” 

‘ ‘ Show him to the study. I suppose I must go down 
for a minute.” 

“You have no other orders to give about the diamond 
tiara, Mr. Vavasor?” questioned the jeweler, obsequiously. 

“No; I think not. I shall call at your place this after- 
noon, Jenningsen.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Vavasor.” 

Thus dismissing the tradesman, Mr. Vavasor went down 
into his study to meet the unknown guest who had con- 
trived to intrude himself upon the banker’s privacy. He 
frowned a little at sight of the red-faced, watery-eyed gen- 
tleman, with the glossy seams to his coat, who stood, with 
a would-be assumption of ease, by the walnut desk. 

“ I am speaking to Mr. Rosse Vavasor, 1 believe?” said 
he, coming up close to the banker. Mr. Vavasor stepped 
back rather stiffly, as if he did not altogether relish this 
propinquity. 

“ That is my name,” he formally responded. “ Please 
state your business as briefly as possible. I am somewhat 
pressed for time. ” 

“ I shall not detain you longer than is necessary,” said 
the visitor. “ Excuse me, Mr. Vavasor, but I believe you 
are to be married next week?” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


323 


“ I am at a loss to imagine how my private and personal 
affairs can at all interest or concern you, sir?^^ coldly re- 
turned Vavasor. 

‘‘Ah! but I can explain how they interest or concern 
me/^ responded the rubicund stranger, tugging nervously 
at his long gray mustache. “ You see before you, sir, a 
modern edition of King Lear.^' 

“ Of King Lear!’^ Rosse Vavasor glanced at the silken 
bell-rope in the corner, with some vague idea of summon- 
ing assistance, for in his own mind he entertained no doubt 
but that he stood in the presence of an escaped lunatic. 

“ I perceive that you do not follow me,^’ said the stran- 
ger, “ but 1 told you that 1 would explain. Prepare your- 
self for a surprise, Mr. Vavasor, putting himself nimbly 
between the master of the house and the bell -rope afore- 
said. “ I am your prospective father-in-law. Captain 
Henry Vivian, the unfortunate although entirely innocent 
parent of the girl you are about to wed! Give me your 
hand, my dear boy. God bless you.'’^ 

The “ dear boy,^^ however, who was scarcely younger 
than the gallant captain himself, drew back from the 
proffered hand-shake, with very evident symptoms of dis- 
taste. 

“ Sir,^'’ said he, haughtily, “ you are an impostor. 
Captain Vivian died in the Isle of Wight a year ago.^^ 

“ Pardon me, Mr. Vavasor; you are laboring under a 
misapprehension of the most serious nature,’^ returned the 
captain, solemnly. “Harry Vivian did not die. Per- 
haps, with an attempt at sentiment, “ it were better if 
he had bidden adieu to this cold and cruel world, which 
has so long believed him buried in oblivion; but fate has 
not been so kind. 1 still walk the earth, an unquiet and 
unwelcome ghost. And I show the boundless faith which 
I repose in your honor and truth by placing my life in your 
hands. Excuse me — but if you happened to have a little 


324 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


brandy at hand, I need a slight stimulant much. I am 
not strong, and these violent emotions unsettle me. 

Mechanically the banker stepped to a carved walnut 
buffet, and, unlocking it, took out a decanter and a 
glass, while the unwelcome guest drew a by no means 
immaculate pocket-handkerchief across his eyes. 

“ Perhaps, he said, as he poured out and swallowed a 
glass of raw spirits, as if it had been so much new milk, 
“ you are wondering why 1 am here.^^ 

“ I am wondering very much indeed, dryly responded 
the banker, who felt as if he was in a disagreeable dream. 

“ In that case I will keep you no longer in suspense, 
said the captain. “ 1 spoke of King Lear; my similitude 
was incorrect. I have no longer a Cordelia, only a Gone- 
ril. I allude to my daughter Gwyneth, who absolutely re- 
fuses to supply me with money for the payment of a trivial 
debt of honor. On my knees, 1, her gray-haired sire, have 
entreated this paltry boon of a hundred pounds. She says 
she has already exhausted her resources, as if a word from 
her would not open the hoards of her sister^ s rich husband. 
She drove me from her presence with contumely, and 
even threatened to give me up — me, her father — to the 
authorities, if I do not abstain from these visits, which 
form my only remaining consolation in this life. But I 
am not thus to be bearded, added the captain, in whose 
brain the brandy was just beginning to ferment. “ I re- 
solved to appeal to you, who, as my future son-in-law, 
must feel for and sympathize with me, a wretched outcast, 
the victim of a legal plot, which has been successful in 
banishing me for half a life-time from my native England ! 
Mr. Vavasor, to you I come, beseeching you to forgive my 
misfortunes, to recognize my claims as a gentleman, to 
atone to me for the unfeeling coldness of the Goneril who 
is about to become your bride. To you a hundred pounds 
is nothing; to me it is a new lease of life.'^ 

Kosse Vavasor stood gazing at the maudlin old man in 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


3^5 


surprise and doubt. At drst his story had worn all the as- 
pects of the incredible. But, on deeper reflection, he 
began to think that it might possibly be true. 

Henry Vivian was an old drunkard. Gwyneth was a 
beautiful girl— yet, unlike as they were, there was a cer- 
tain something of similarity in their voices, looks and gest- 
ures— a family resemblance in the face and features that 
bore mute, but incontrovertible testimony in favor of the 
man’s assertion. 

“ When did you see Miss Vivian?” he asked, huskily. 

“I have just come from there,” answered Captain 
Vivian, eying the decanter with a longing look; yet suffi- 
ciently in possession of his senses to know that it would not 
be wise or prudent to refill his glass. 

“ How long have you been in England?” 

“ For more than a year.” 

“And has Gwyneth — Miss Vivian — been aware during 
all this time where you were?” 

“ She ought to be,” answered the captain, with a short 
laugh. “ There’s not been a week in all the year that 1 
haven’t either seen or written to her!” 

Mr. Vavasor compressed his lips— a chill sensation set- 
tled around his heart as if the warm current of life were 
congealing in frosty silence there. A man at his period of 
life does not concentrate his affections lightly upon a 
woman — and thus to be called upon to realize, all of a sud- 
den, that his betrothed wife had been systematically deceiv- 
ing him, and playing a double part, was not a pleasant 
sensation, aside from the unexpected apparition of so un- 
desirable a father-in-law. 

“ Come,” insinuated Captain Vivian, assuming a wheed- 
ling air, “ a hundred pounds is a mere bagatelle to Mr. 
Eosse Vavasor! Especially when we consider the sacred 
ties so soon to be — ” 

“ Yes, that will do,” interrupted the banker, hurriedly. 
“ I regret exceedingly that it is, at present, out of my 


326 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


power to accommodate you with the mentioned sum of 
money 

Captain Vivian drew himself up, with difficulty sup- 
pressing a hiccough. 

“ Mr. Vavasor, said he, “ perhaps you are a student of 
Shakespeare? Of the immortal William of Avon?^^ 

“ Excuse me if I decline to enter into any literary dis- 
cussion at present, frigidly answered Vavasor. 

“ We do not read,^^ solemnly went on Captain Vivian, 

that King Lear had a son. But if he had, and if that 
son had rivaled in his conduct the heartlessness both of 
Regan and Goneril, the serpent^s tooth of his filial ingrati- 
tude could not have stung the monarch more acutely than 
yours has this day stung me! Sir, I leave yCu to your 
own reflections. 1 wish you a very good-evening!^’ 

And Captain Vivian strolled out of the room with great 
dignity, leaving an atmosphere of spirituous liquors behind 
him. While Rosse Vavasor, sinking into a chair, clasped 
both hands over his forehead with a deep groan. 

“ Good God!” he exclaimed, aloud. “ Can it be possi- 
ble that she is capable of such deceit as this? Was she 
lying to me when she told me, with such reiterated assur- 
ances, such unnecessary details, of her father’s death.” 

Half an hour subsequently, when Regina Vavasor 
knocked at the door to give her brother a telegram which 
had just arrived from Vienna, on some banking business, 
she started at sight of his pale, drawn face. 

“ Rosse,” she cried out, ‘‘ what is the matter? Are 
you ill?” 

“ No,” he answered, constrainedly, “ I am quite well. 
Tell them to bring the coupe around at once. I have lost 
enough time already. ” 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


327 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE TWO SISTEKS. 

“ There/^ said Miss Vivian, with the point of her gold 
pencil-case reflectively at her lips. “ I think I\e remem- 
bered everybody that is worth remembering. 

Gwyneth was engaged in the congenial occupation of 
making out a list of the people who were to be invited to 
her first “ At Home,^^ in Windlay Street. The cards for 
the wedding-reception were already out, but Miss Vivian 
meant; when the reins of the social chariot were fairly in 
her own grasp, to weed out a great many of the acquaint- 
ances she had hitherto tolerated, nay, even courted. For 
she felt that Mrs. Rosse Vavasor could venture a great deal 
more selectness and hauteur, than would have been appro- 
priate to Miss Vivian. And Gwyneth was disposed to 
abate no whit of her delightful new privileges as the bride 
of one of the wealthiest men in London. 

She was in a becoming negligee of white cashmere, with 
a broad band of gold edging its folds, and gold cord and 
tassels depending from her waist, while her luxuriant 
brown hair was gathered carelessly into the golden meshes 
of a net, and Mr. Vavasor ^s engagement diamond flashed 
like a dot of fire upon her slender forefinger. On a sofa 
close by, Sidney Carruthers was busy painting an illu- 
minated text which he had promised to a boy friend, and 
Christabel was helping him — Christabel, with a look of 
radiant happiness on her pure, pale face, while Oswald, 
seated at a table in the bay-window, was writing sundry 
directions to his American factotum as to the preparation 
of the Oregon home for the bride he was about to bring to 
it. For the time of their embarkation was nearing with 
every passing day, and Carruthers felt that he would fain 


328 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


have the prairie home present its fairest aspect to his beau- 
tiful English love. 

Sidney looked up fondly into ChristaheEs face, as she 
traced for him the outlines of a gilded German text letter. 

“ Chrissy/^ said he, “ it^s a lucky circumstance for Os- 
wald that Pm ten years younger than he is.^^ 

“ Why?^^ she asked, letting her hand rest lovingly on 
his shoulder. 

“ Because in that case I should have married you my" 
self, and sent him to the right about. There, how do you 
like that curly tailed 

“ Christabel,^^ interposed Gwyneth, “ would you in- 
clude Mrs. Ponsonby?’' 

“ Of course I would. Why not?^^ 

“ She is very nice herself,^^ said Gwyneth, “ but those 
two raw-boned old-maid sisters of hers — 

“ They are sweet, amiable girls. They do a great deal 
of good in the church and poor district. 

“I’m not setting up for a missionary medley,” said 
Gwyneth, contemptuously. “ No — if I can’t have Mrs. 
Ponsonby without the sisters, I won’t have her at all! 
One must be select!” 

And she drew her pencil aross the name under discus- 
sion. 

Mrs. Beckford came into the room at that moment, 
flushed with excitemeht, and breathing very hard as she 
smoothed out the ruffles of her black silk apron. 

“Miss Christabel,” said she, “ who do you suppose is 
down-stairs, and asking to see you?” 

“ 1 am sure I can not tell,” said Christabel. “Take 
care, Sid. Don’t let your brush get too full of that deep 
carmine, or you’ll spoil all. Who is it, Mrs. Beckford?” 

“ Why, Florine Dufour, as was Mrs. Osw^ald Carruthers’s 
French maid here, and afterward waited on Miss Vivian. 
And Policeman A 67 with her. ” 

Gwyneth looked up quickly. Were the old memories of 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY, 


329 


her past infatuation never to cease cropping up around 
her? 

“It is me that she is asking for, 1 suppose, said she, 
sharply, “but I shall not take her back again. Regina 
Vavasor has a Swiss maid already engaged for me.^^ 

“ I beg your pardon. Miss Vivian,'^ said Mrs. Beckford, 
“ but it wasnH you that Florine wishes to see. It^s Miss 
Fane. 

Ohristabel hesitated a second. 

“ Oh, tell her to come in,^^ said Sidney. “ Florine was 
always such a pretty little thing, and I should like to see 
her again. Let her come in here, Chrissy!^’ 

“You hear, Mrs. Beckford, said Ohristabel, smiling, 
and the old housekeeper withdrew. 

Sidn^^s face brightened as Florine Dufour came in, 
smiling, blushing, and overwhelmed with pretty diffidence, 
followed closely by the stalwart form of Derwent Bryan, 
who touched his forehead with a sort of military salute to 
all present. 

Oswald Carruthers greeted the new-comers with genial 
courtesy, Ohristabel with the gracious kindness which was 
a part of her nature, and Sidney welcomed them with 
noisy boyish glee. But Gwyneth Vivian went on with her 
work as if they had never entered. 

To her, however, Florine hurried at once. 

“Miss Vivian, said she, incoherently, “you will par- 
don me? You will forgive me? Only say it, and I shall 
be relieved.’^ 

“ Take care of mydress,^^ said Gwyneth, dragging away 
the golden border of her attire. “ Pardon you? What 
for? Of course, I pardon you.^^ 

And Florine stood before Miss Fane, with drooping and 
clasped hands. 

“ Miss Ohristabel — she said, and then she stopped. 

“What is it, Florine?^^ kindly questioned the young 
girl. 


330 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


But she only looked appealingly at Derwent Bryan, who 
drew from his breast pocket a packet of papers. 

“ Miss Fane,^^ said he, gravely, “ Florine has something 
to communicate to you, and she can^t find fitting words to 
tell it; and you^ll not wonder, miss, when you hear what 
it is. Would you do me the favor. Miss Fane, to look at 
these papers?^^ 

Christabel took the packet into her hands with a sur- 
prised look. Oswald Carruthers advanced, and stood at 
her side. 

“ Take them,^^ said she. “ 1 — I donH know what they 

can possibly mean.^’ 

“ Shall I examine them for you?’’ he whispered. 

“ If you only would 

He opened the packet, and hurriedly glanced over its 
contents. 

“ Here is the formally witnessed and attested marriage 
certificate,^^ said he, “ of Rupert Fane and Pauline Ge- 
rome, in Paris, in the year 18 — , and here also is a copy 
of the baptismal register of Florine, their only child, born 
April 2d, 18—^^ 

“ And here,^^ Bryan interposed, “ she stands — Florine, 
daughter of Sir Rupert Fane, and Pauline his wife.^’ 

Christabel uttered a low cry. 

“It is impossible,^' said she. “ Papa never married 
again after poor mammals death. 

“You are mistaken. Miss Fane,” said Bryan, calmly; 
“ he did marry again, as yonder papers are a sufficient 
evidence, and this young girl, commonly known as Florine 
Dufour, is his rightful daughter.’^ 

Christabel turned to her affianced husband with a be- 
wildered, questioning look. 

“ Oswald,” said she, “ tell me, is this so?” 

Oswald, who had been intently occupied in scrutinizing 
the papers, now looked gravely up. 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


331 


“It is quite true/^ said he; “ this girl is your father’s 
daughter by a second wife, and your half-sister. ” 

Christabel turned to Plorine, who had stood before her 
all the time with drooping head and hands clasped, like a 
fair, silent statue, and held out her hands. 

“Elorine,” said she, softly, “ Sister!” 

Florine had not stirred at the utterance of the first word, 
but when the musical, indescribably tender accent of the 
.second fell upon her ear, she threw herself, sobbing, into 
Christabel ’s embrace. 

“ Heaven bless you for that name. Miss Fane,” said 
she. “ And — ” 

“Not ‘ Miss Fane ’ any more, dear. Christabel!” 

“ Christabel, then,” pronouncing the name shyly and 
with an effort. “ Heaven reward you for the welcome you 
have offered me! But 1 don’t want your grand old name, 
nor your wealth — I am only thinking of the dead mother 
who perished under a cloud; the mother I loved and lost. 
J only want her name cleared, her fair fame recognized.” 

“It shall be!” Christabel quietly answered. “But 
from hence, Florine, your home must be with me I” 

“ Of course,” assented Oswald Carruthers, to whom 
Christabel glanced as if for confirmation of her words. 

“No,” said Florine, the soft crimson again overspread- 
ing her cheek and brow; “ I — I — ” 

“ She is to be married next week,” valiantly interposed 
Derwent Bryan, again coming to the rescue. “ To me. 
Miss Fane. To me, Mr. Carruthers. At present her 
home is with my sister, Mrs. Hetherege. All that she 
wanted of her grand relations was a recognition of the 
name and rights of her dead mother, and beyond that, 
neither she nor I have anything to ask of any living soul.” 

“ Florine,” whispered Christabel, “ is this true?” 

“ I love him,” Florine answered, in the same tone, 
“ and I will marry him. Oh, Miss Fane — Christabel, I 
mean,” with a smile and blush at the girl’s gentle glance 


332 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


of reproach, “ no one but me knows how good and noble 
and true he is! And I wouldn’t give him up, not to be 
made England’s queen!” 

And so Derwent Bryan led away his lovely young bride, 
with a proud glance, Sidney detaining her on the way for 
a kiss. 

“You and I were always the best of friends, Florine, 
weren’t we?” said he. “ And I say, if you’re Chrissy’s 
sister, you must be some sort of a mixed-up relation to me, 
and I shall send you a veil to wear at the wedding. For 
I’m a rich man now, thanks to Oswald there.” 

Gwyneth Yivian had listened to all that had transpired 
during this strange interview, with a curled lip and scorn- 
ful arch of the eyebrows. 

“ Is she not sweet?” cried Christabel, when the door 
closed behind Florine and her husband that was to be. 

“ And what a noble fellow that is that she is to be mar- 
ried to!” added Oswald. “ Chrissy, we are living a page 
of romance to-day, not a dull record of every-day life. ” 

“ A lady’s-maid,” said Gwyneth, contemptuously, “ and 
a policeman’s wife! My word, these are distinguished 
additions to our armorial shields. However, there’s one 
comfort, I shall soon be married out of this miscellaneous 
collection of absurdities. ” 

“ Gwyn always was too good for this world,” said Sid- 
ney, with a grimace. “ H(jw 1 envy Mr. Yavasor his 
gracious and charming life companion.” 

“ There are true ladies and real gentlemen in all walks 
of life, Gwyneth,” said Christabel, mildly; “and the 
ancient blood of the Fanes rolling in Florine’s veins will 
ennoble her, no matter what station she may have been 
compelled by fate to fill. Now, Sid, shall we go on with 
our illuminating work? or else you will not have finished 
to-day. ” 

Oswald Carruthers had taken no notice of Gwyneth’s 
insulting words and gestures, although a quick flush and a 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


333 


dangerous sparkle of the eye indicated that their en- 
venomed point had not been lost to him. A year ago his 
quick temper would have blazed up in a second at such a 
challenge as this. But a year of discipline and resolute 
self-control had not been without its harvest, and he re- 
turned to his desk apparently as quiet and silent as if he 
had not heard a word of the malicious taunts spoken by 
Gwyneth Vivian. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

ME. VAVASOK AND HIS BEIDE. 

Scarcely more than an hour had elapsed since the de- 
parture of Florine Dufour, as we must still continue to 
call her, and her affianced husband, from the mansion in 
Grosvenor Place, when the footman brought in a card to 
Miss Vivian — the card of Mr. Vavasor. 

My dear,’^ cried Gwyneth, “ it^s Rosse, and I am still 
in my morning-dress! Why, he told me he would not call 
until four in the afternoon. However, with a glance at 
the dead-white folds of her cashmere wrapper, with its 
glimmering border of gold, and a complacent conscious- 
ness of its being a decidedly becoming article of apparel, 
“ ITl go down just as I am. Gentlemen never do like to 
be kept waiting 

And so she tripped down into the rose and silver draped 
anteroom, where Mr. Vavasor was standing, leaning against 
the mantel, a slab of purest Italian marble, supported by 
life-sized Cupids, carved in the same dazzling material. 

“ Dear Rosse, she cried, holding out both her plump 
white hands, “ this is truly a delightful surprise. I had 
hardly hoped to see you so early in the day!^^ 

“Yes,^’ he answered, rather constrainedly, “1 have 
called earlier than I had intended. To speak truth, 
Gwyneth, I wanted to converse with you upon a subject to 
which 1 have already alluded— the subject of your father. 


334 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


Gwyneth^s cheeks involuntarily paled, and her heart 
seemed to stand still within her at these ominously sound- 
ing words. But she said nothing, only looked up with 
mute, questioning eyes, into Mr. Vavasor ^s stern face. 

I am aware, he added, that is not a pleasant sub- 
ject to you, any more than it is to me!^^ 

“ It can not be,'^ said Gwyneth, with a little chill 
shiver. “But, Eosse, I have already told you all that I 
knew concerning him.^^ 

“ All?'' repeated the banker, slowly. 

“Yes, all," Gwyneth answered, in an injured tone of 
voice. “ 1 have not attempted to conceal the fact that he 
was a blot upon our family escutcheon — a continual dis- 
grace and embarrassment to us, during his ill-starred life. 
I concealed nothing from you, and you — you told me that 
you loved me still. You said I ought not to be blamed for 
faults committed by one for whose conduct 1 was in no de- 
gree responsible. " 

“Yes," Eosse Vavasor said, his eyes flxed still upon her 
face; “1 remember well what I said. 1 said all that you 
have repeated, and 1 added, also, that I could forgive any- 
thing and everything to one who was frank with me, and 
hesitated not to speak the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth!" 

‘""Yoxx did say so, dear Eosse," and Gwyneth looked ap- 
pealingly into his face. 

“ But," went on Mr. Vavasor, “ there is a point upon 
which I am not quite satisfied. You told me your father 
died at Ventnor, at the Isle of Wight?" 

Gwyneth inclined her head. 

“You told me that you were at his death- bed, and saw 
the dread parting struggle between soul and body?" 

“ Yes." She murmured the word behind a lace-edged 
pocket-handkerchief, faintly scented with violet water. 

“ You are sure that you told me all?" For Eosse Vava- 
sor had sworn to himself that he would not utterly con- 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


335 


demn this promised wife of his without giving her one last 
chance to escape from the net-work of falsehood that she 
had spun around herself. But it was not in Gwyneth 
Vivian's serpent-like nature to avail herself of any such 
loop-hole. 

“ All!" she answered, with a look of most supreme in- 
nocence. “ Oh, Rosse! do you think I would deceive 
you f " 

“ It is enough!" he said, with a slight beckoning toward 
the window; and to Gwyneth Vivian's intense rage and 
discomfiture, the heavy folds of rose-colored satin which 
concealed the plate-glass panes were lifted, and from be- 
hind their screen stepped forth her father himself. Cap- 
tain Henry Vivian, rubicund as to visage, shabby as to 
raiment, and surrounded by the odor of recently swallowed 
brandy that seemed to follow him like his own shadow. 

“ I hope I'm not making any trouble here," said the 
captain, jauntily, as he bowed to his daughter. “ But, 
you know, my dear, every one must look out for himself, 
and after your telling me, day before yesterday, that you 
could do nothing more for me, I felt the necessity of stir- 
ring around a little on my own account, and to whom 
should I turn more naturally than to my own future son- 
in-law?" And Captain Vivian smiled obsequiously in the 
direction of the banker, who stood stiff and cold as a statue 
by the carved Cupids on the mantel, whose, set smiles con- 
trasted strangely with his pallid face and Gwyneth's 
startled eyes. 

‘‘ Gwyneth," he said, sternly, “ you have this day sealed 
your own doom in my esitmation. " 

“But, Mr. Vavasor — Rosse—" 

“ Hear me out, if you please," he interrupted, with a 
grave gesture of silence. “ I could have borne anything 
from you but deceit, Gwyneth. Had your father been 
publicly executed on the gallows — had you been a beggar, 
pipjied out of the streets— h^d any degree of infamy or 


336 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


poverty shadowed your past life, it would have been as 
nothing to me. The divine crucible of Love would have 
purified and refined anything in my sight. I would have 
forgotten and forgiven all for your sweet sake — all but de- 
liberate falsehood! As it is/^ with compressed lips and 
set face, “ our associations terminate forever, from this 
hour. 1 will never marry a woman whom 1 can not trust! 
1 will not bind myself for life to one who has once defiled 
her soul with deceit and treachery.’^ 

G wyneth Vivian sunk upon a chair, with both her hands 
pressed convulsively over her face. Captain Vivian ^s iron- 
gray hair bristled portentously over his head ; even he had 
not anticipated any such disastrous termination to the lit- 
tle attempt he had made to levy taxes on the man he re- 
garded as his future son-in-law. 

“Upon my word, sir,^^ said he, “this is rather im- 
perious on your part. All girls lie — it’s natural to ’em — 
and my poor Gwyn’s no worse than the rest of her sex, 
and I certainly can not allow any man to back out of an 
engagement with my daughter, unless — ” 

“ Silence!” thundered Eosse Vavasor, turning so sud- 
denly on the captain that he started back, and fell promis- 
cuously over a chair and two card-tables, into a stand of 
choice hot-house ferns, with a gold-fish globe suspended in 
its midst. “ Be thankful that you are not delivered into 
the hands of the law that you have so audaciously out- 
raged; and remember this, 1 give you thirty days to re- 
move yourself out of this country, which shall not with my 
consent be made into a harboring-place for escaped felons. 
At the end of that period your case will be reported to the 
nearest magistrate, and woe be to you if you are found 
within the area of English justice.” 

Captain Vivian picked himself out of the general medley 
of ruin, which lay scattered on the floor, and with a depre- 
cating glance in the direction of his daughter, and an 
almost inaudible murmur as to “ unexpected return for a 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


337 


gentleman's confidence/' tiptoed out of the room. Gwyn- 
eth sprung up as he closed the door, and hurried toward 
her affianced husband, with outstretched hands, and piteous- 
ly pleading eyes. 

“ Rosse," she cried out, “ only hear me. Dear Rosse, 
let me explain." 

But Rosse Vavasor turned from her, with a face like 
adamant. 

“ Gwyneth," he said, “ you have seen a fragile alabas- 
ter vase fall in shattered fragments to the floor? That is 
how you have fallen from your pedestal in my heart. And 
not all the powers of heaven and earth can ever reinstate 
you there. " 

Silently, and with face steadily averted from her implor- 
ing gaze, Rosse Vavasor passed out of her presence, and 
from that moment Gwyneth Vivian never looked upon his 
face again. 

Fifteen or twenty minutes afterward, when Christabel 
Fane came into the rose and silver anteroom to get a fern 
for Sidney to copy on drawing paper, she started back in 
dismay. Thei-e lay the fern-stand, a hopeless wreck on 
the floor, while “ Adiantums,^^ “ Doodias/^ and “ Givym- 
nogramas/* lay scattered amid the ruins of their painted 
china vases and the lifeless forms of the poor gold-fishes, 
and just beyond, with her head buried in the satin pillows 
of the sofa, crouched Gwyneth Vivian. 

“ Gwyneth," Christabel exclaimed, hurrying to the 
other's side, and laying her hand upon her shoulder, 
“ what is the matter? Are you sick?" 

“ Sick — yes," burst out the girl, without looking up; 
“sick of life!" 

“ Where is Mr. Vavasor?" questioned Christabel, sud- 
denly remembering who it was that Gwyneth Vivian had 
come down to receive, and looking around in blank sur- 
prise. 


338 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 


“ Gone!^^ wailed out Gwyneth; “ gone forever. I shall 
never see him again 

Ohristabel knelt down by her side, and gently drew the 
cold hands away from the death-pale face, over which fell 
a mass of bright, disheveled hair, escaped from the meshes 
of its gold net. 

“ Gwyneth, said she, kindly, “ you are ill. You are 
wandering in your mind. Tell me what you mean!^^ 

Gwyneth sat up on the sofa, and pushed the hair out of 
her shining eyes, with a hard, short laugh. 

“ It^s easily told,^ ^ said she. I am a deserted 
bride — an object for all London to point the finger of 
scorn against! It was about papa,^^ in answer to 
ChristabeTs inquiring look. “ He heard some rumor, and 
he asked me — and I, like a fool, told him papa was dead I 
I thought it would lull all his suspicions to rest. And then 
papa grew more exorbitant in his demands, and I told 
him plainly that I would do nothing more for him. And 
he went to Eosse Vavasor — and — and Eosse wilJ never for- 
give me for the lie 1 told! He has broken our engagement 
— he has cast me off, at this eleventh hour, with the wed- 
ding-cards out, and everything ordered! Oh, what shall I 
do — what shall I do?^^ 

And Gwyneth burst out into shrieks and sobs and inar- 
ticulate expressions of despair on ChristabeTs shoulder, 
never once pausing to consider that all this was the conse- 
quence of her own selfishness and conceit, a crop as sure 
as is the waving harvest of golden grain, where the hus- 
bandman ^s hand has scattered the seed! 

Eosse Vavasor lived unmarried to the day of his death, 
and Miss Eegina reigned an undisputed queen over his 
almost regal household. And Gwyneth Vivian, after hav- 
ing tried, in vain, various more genteel modes of liveli- 
hood, is now a visiting governess, picking up a precarious 
income when and where she can, and perpetually recur- 


LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 339 

ring, in the bitterness of her soul, to the home she might 
have had if only she could have brought herself to be 
truthful with her affianced lover. The captain disap- 
peared suddenly, on the day of his daughter's great disap- 
pointment, and was never heard of afterward. Nor were 
any regrets expressed for this miraculous cessation of his 
attentions to his friends. 

Derwent Bryan and his pretty young bride were mar- 
ried, and went contentedly to housekeeping in the little 
Gothic cottage in St. Markus Eoad. Florine made the 
sweetest and merriest of young wives, and Derwent Bryan 
regarded her with an affection which fell little short of ab- 
solute idolatry. An upper room in the house was set apart 
for the use of Mother Benoit, who, however, could not con- 
tent herself with any settled home or abiding-place for a 
greater length of time than two or three consecutive 
weeks. At the end of this period, she would suddenly ab- 
sent herself without rhyme or reason, and as suddenly re- 
turn, when the spirit moved her, to domestic life again. 
And more than once it took all her grandson-in-law^s 
influence, and not a little of his capital, to rescue her from 
the strong arm of the offended law, for Mother Benoit^s 
predatory habits and general idea of acquisition did not 
lessen with increasing age, until one day the old lady was 
found dead in her bed —a fact which afforded great relief to 
both Derwent Bryan and Florine. 

Sidney Carruthers graduated from college with distin- 
guished honors, and lives the life of a student and scholar 
in the old house in Delavan Place, where books and paint- 
ings have gradually crowded out almost every other article 
of furniture, and travelers and savants are entertained with 
princely hospitality. He will always be a cripple, but he 
has long since reconciled himself to this fate, and continues 
to sip all the honey out of life's flowers as he drifts on in 
years. 

Occasionally Gwyneth Vivian becomes his guest for a 


340 


LOVE AKD JEALOUSY. 


few days, but she is never comfortable under Sid’s sar- 
castic eye, and is always suspecting hidden satire in 
everything he says, so that the visit is generally terminated 
by the effecting of a loan on Miss Vivian’s part of a few 
pounds, and a not unwillingly spoken farewell. 

Oswald and Christabel are quietly happy in their far 
western home. The sweet influence of his wife seems to 
have charmed all the old “savage” element out of the 
young man’s generous nature, and his whole life is ripened 
and mellowed by hers. They seldom speak of those years 
of trial which both had endured. That belongs to the 
past. The present is unspeakably precious to them; the 
future is in God’s hand. 

And within the limits of a large cemetery, just outside 
the city of London, there is a low grass -grown mound, 
where a simple wooden cross marks the last resting-place 
of Gaspard Montini, while, not far away, a stately obelisk 
of white marble bears the inscription: 

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OP 

GERTRUDE, 

WIFE OF 

OSWALD CARRUTHERS, 

WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE MARCH 16tH, 18 — , 

AGED 24 YEARS. 

And there, almost within a stone’s throw of each other, 
these restless spirits slumber peacefully, waiting for the 
summons of the last trump, with all the turbulent griefs 
and stormy passions of their lives forgotten and at rest. 
TTieir past is over; their future i^ also in God’s hand. 


THE EK^D. 



Taking Things Easy 
is simply taking Pearline 
to do your work. In the 
laundry or about the house 
it is a servant in itself. It 
takes away drudgery as well 
as dirt ; it brings comfort 
as well as cleanliness. You 
can use it on anything with safety ; you can 
use it on everything with profit. 




Millions use it. 


■pj of imitations which are being peddled from door 

to door. First quality goods do not require such 
desperate methods to sell them. PEARLINE sells 
on its merits, and is manufactured only by 

204 JAMES PYLE, New York. 


W. L DOUGLAS $3 SHOE FOR GENTLEMEN. 



roit 

LADIES. 

Best Dongola. 

Extra Value 
for the price. 

For MISSES. 

For Boys and 
Youths. 

$‘2 Sc $ 1 . 7 ;; 

SCHOOL 

SHOES. 


FOR 

GENTLEMEN. 


$5.00 

Genuine Hand- 
Sewed. 

$ 1.00 

Iland-Sewed 
Welt Shoe. 

$».;>o 

Police and 

Farmer. 

$‘^.50 

Extra Value 

Calf Shoe. 

$ 55.35 

Workingman’s 
Shoe. 

$ 3.00 

Good wear Shoe. 


W. li. DoiiglaK Shoes for (ieiitleineii are made in Congress, Button and 
Lace sized 5 to 11, including half sizes and widths, and all styles of toe. Boys’ 
sized’ 1 to .5 1-2, and youth’s 11 to 13 1-2, also half sizes in each. 

VV. Li. Douglas $3 Shoe for Ladies. Sizes 1 to 7, and half sizes; B, C. D, 


K EE widths 

’ %'Z ?Shoe for Ladies. Sizes 1 to 7, including half sizes; C, D, E, and EE wiiiths. 

W. li. Douglas $1.75 Shoe for iUisses. H to 2 and half sizes, regular and 
sprinc h66ls. ^ 

W L. Douglas’s name and the price are stamped on bottom of all shoes, and 
every pair are warranted. Send name and address on postal card for valu- 
able information. VV. lo DOULiLAS, Brockton, Mass. 


LIBRARY of AMERICAN AUTHORS. 


TO BE ISSUED SEPTEMBER 20: 

NO. 24, 

HAZEL KIRKE. 

By marie AVALSH. 

Price 25 Cents. 


NO. PRICE. 

23 LOVE AND JEALOUSY. By 

Lucy Randall Comfort 25 

22 THE BRIDE OFMONTE- 
CRISTO. A Sequel to “The 

Count of Monte-Cristo ” 25 

21 SWORN TO SILENCE: or, 
Aline Rodney’s Secret. By 


Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller 25 

20 MURIEL; or. Because of His 
Love for Her. By Christine 


Carlton 25 

19 MARRIED FOR MONEY. By 

Lucy Randall Comfort 25 

18 LAUREL VANE; or, The Girls’ 
Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 25 

17 VENDETTA; or. The Southern 

Heiress. By Lucy Randall 
Comfort 25 

18 LITTLE ROSEBUD’S LOVERS; 

OR, A Cruel Revenge. By 

Laura Jean Libbey .♦. 25 

15 A STRUGGLE FOR A HEART; 

OR, Crystabel’s Fatal Love. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 25 

14 ALL FOR LOVE OF A FAIR 
FACE ; or, a Broken Be- 
trothal. By Laura Jean Lib- 
bey 25 


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By Mrs. Mary E. Bryan 25 

12 IDA CHALONER’S HEART; or. 
The Husband’s Trial. By- 
Lucy Randall Comfort.. 25 

11 JUNIE’S LOVE-TEST. By Lau- 
ra Jean Libbey 25 

10 LEONIE LOCKE; or. The Ro- 
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York Working - Girl. By 
Laura Jean Libbey"^ 25 

9 SAINTS AND SINNERS. By 

Marie Walsh 25 

8 MADOLIN RIVERS. By Laura 

Jean Libbey 25 

7 TJZZIE ADRIANCE. By Mar- 
garet Lee . . .-. 25 

6 MARRIAGE. By Margaret Lee 25 
5 THE HEIRESS OF CAMERON 
HALL. By Laura Jean Libbey 25 
4 DAISY BROOKS. By Laura 


Jean Libbey 25 

3 SHADOW AND SUNSHINE. By 

Adna H. Lightner 25 

2 THE ROCK OR THE RYE. 

(Comic). By-^ T. C. DeLeon ... 25 
1 MY OWN SIN. By Mrs. Mary 
E. Bryan 25 


Others will follow at short intervals. 


The above works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent by mail on 
receipt of the price. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

(P. O. Box 3751.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street. Hew York. 


Old Sleuth Library. 


10 

11 

12 

13 

14 

15 

16 


17 

18 

19 

20 
21 

22 

23 

24 


28 

29 

30 

30 

31 

32 


A Series of the Most Thrilling Detective Stories Ever Published! 


ISSUED D U A R T E RE Y . 


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Old Sleuth’s Triumph (1st half) 

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Under a Million Disguises (1st 

Half 

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half 

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Detective 10c 

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8 llcd-Light Will, the River De- 

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9 Iron Burgess, the Government 

Detective (1st half) 10c 

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Black Raven, the Georgia De- 
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25 Old Terrible 10c 

26 The Smugglers of NewYork Bay 10c 

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Mura, the Western Lady De- 
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lietective (1st half) 10c 

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Detective (2d half).... 10c 

Hamud, the Detective 10c 

The Giant Detective in France 

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32 


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Russia lOc 

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Old Ironsides Abroad (1st half). 10c 
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48 Down in a Coal Mine lOc 

To be issiietl June tiStli, 1S90; 

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33 

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lui.rNttu o w ^ ^ ^ or will be sent to any ad 


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uress, put. g *4jjtoR«E HI U N R 11* 'inio’s Piiblisliing 

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With Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations by John Tennlel. 
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Nachfolgende Werke sind in der „Deutschen Library*' erschienen: 


1 Der Kaiser von Prof. G. Ebers 20 

2 Die Somosierra von R. Wald- 


iniiller 10 

3 Das Geheimniss der alten Mam- 

sell. Roman von E. Marlitt. 10 

4 Quisisana von Fr. Spielhagen 10 

5 Gartenlauben - Bluthen von E. 

Werner 20 

6 Die Hand der Nemesis von E. 

A. Koni?: 20 

7 Amtmann’s Map^d v. E. Marlitt 20 

8 Vineta von E. Werner 20 

9 Auf der Riimmingsburg von M. 

Widdern 10 

10 Das Haus Hillel von Max Ring 20 

11 Gliickaufl von E. Werner 10 

12 Goldelse von E. Marlitt 20 

13 Vater und Sohn von F. Lewald 10 

14 Die Wiirger von Paris von C. 

Vacano 20 

15 Der Diamantsclileifer von Ro- 

senthal-Bonin 10 

16 Ingo und Ingraban von Gustav 

Frey tag 20 

17 Eine Frage von Georg Ebers. . 10 

18 Im Paradiese von Paul Heyse 20 

19 In beiden Hemispharen von 

Sutro 10 

20 Gelebt und gelitten von H. Wa- 

chenhusen 20 

21 Die Eichhofs von M. von Rei- 

cheubach 10 

22 Kinder der Welt von P. Heyse. 

Erste Iiaifte 2Q 

22 Kinder der Welt von P. Heyse. 

ZweiteHalfte 20 

23 Barfiissele von Berthold Auer- 

bach 10 

24 Das Nest der Zaunkonige von 

G. Frey tag 20 

25 Frtihlingsboten von E. Werner 10 

26 Zelle No. 7 von Pierre Zacone 20 

27 Die junge Frau v. H. Wachen- 

husen 20 

28 Biichenheim von Th. v. Varn- 

biller 10 

29 Auf derBahn des Verbrechens 

V. Evvald A. Konig 20 

30 Brigitta von Berth. Auerbach . . 10 

81 Im Schillingshof v. E. Marlitt 20 

32 Gesprengte Fesseln v. E. Wer- 

ner 10 

33 Der Heiduck von Hans Wa- 

chenhusen 20 

34 Die Sturmhexe von Grftfln M. 

Keyserling 10 

35 Das kind Bajazzo’s von E. A. 

KCnig 20 

86 Die Briider vom deutschen 

Hause von Gustav Frey tag. . 20 

37 Der Wilddieb v. F. GerstS,cker 10 

38 Die Verlobte von Rob. Wald- 

mUller 20 

39 Der Doppelgfinger von L. 

Scbiicking 10 


40 Die weisse Frau von Greifen- 

stein von E. Fels 

41 Hans und Gi’ete von Fr. Spiel- 

hagen 

42 Mein Onkel Don Juan von H. 

Hopfen 

43 Markus K6nig v. Gustav Frey- 

tag 

44 Die schonen Amerikanerinnen 

von Fr. Spielhagen 

45 Das grosse Loos v. A. Kdnig.. 

46 Zur Eh re Gottes von Sacher 

und Ultimo v. F. Spielhagen 

47 Die Geschwister von Gustav 

Frey tag 

48 Bischof und K6nig von Mariam 

Tenger und Der Piratenkd- 
nig von M. Jokai 

49 Reichsgrafin Gisela v. Marlitt 

50 BewegteZeiten v.Leon Alexan- 

drowitsch 

51 Um Ehre und Leben von E. A. 

Konig 

52 Aus einer kleinen Stadt v. Gu- 

stav Frey tag 

53 Hildegard von Ernst v.Waldow 

54 Dame Orange von Hans Wa- 

chenhusen 

55 Johannisnacht von M. Schmidt 

56 Angela von Fr. Spielhagen... 

57 Falsche Wege von J. v. Brun- 

Barnovv 

58 Versunkene Welten von Wilh. 

Jensen 

59 Die Wohnungssucher von A. 

von Winterfeld 

60 Eine Million von E. A. K6nig 

61 Das Skelet von F. Spielhagen 

und Das Fi olenhaus von Gu- 
stav zu Putlitz 

62 Soli und Haben v. G. Freytag. 

Erste Haifte 

62 Soli und Haben v. G. Freytag. 

Zweite H&lfte 

63 Schloss Griinwald von Char- 

lotte Fielt 

64 Zwei Kreuzherren von Lucian 

Herbert 

65 Die Erlebnisse einer Schutzlo- 

sen V. Kath. Sutro-Schucking 

66 Das Haideprinzesschen von E. 

Marlitt 

67 Die Geyer-Wally von Wilh. von 

Hi Hern .’ 

68 Idealisten von A. Reinow 

69 Am Altar von E. Werner 

70 Der Konig der Luft von A. v. 

Winterfeld 

71 Moschko von Parma v. Karl E. 

Franzos 

72 Schuld und SUhne von Ewald 

A. Konig 

73 In Reih’ und Qlied v. F. Spiel- 

Erste Haifte 


20 

10 


20 


20 

10 

20 

10 


20 


10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

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DIE DEUTSCHE LIBRARY. 


73 In Reih’ und Glied v. F. Spiel- 

hagen. Zweite Hfilfte 

74 Geheimnisse einer kleinen 

Stadt von A. von Winterfeld 

75 Das Landhaus am Rhein von 

B. Auerbach. Erste HSlfte.. 

75 Das Landhaus am Rhein von 

B. Auerbach. Zweite Hfilfte 

76 Clara Vere von Friedrich Spiel- 

hagen 

77 Die Frau Biirgermeisterin von 

G. Ebers 

78 Aus eigener Kraft von Wilh. 

V. Hillern 

79 Ein Kampf urn’s Recht von K. 

Franzos 

80 Prinzessin Schnee von Marie 

Widdern 

81 Die zweite Frau von E. Marlitt 

82 Benvenuto von Fanny Lewald 

83 Pessimisten von F. von Stengel 

84 Die Hofdame der Erzherzogin 

von F. von Witzleben-Wen- 
delstein 

85 Ein Vierteljahrhundert von B. 

Young 

86 Thttringer Erzahl ungen von E. 

Marlitt 

87 Der Erbe von Mortella von A. 

Dom 

88 Vom armen egyptischen Mann 

V. Hans Wach'enhusen 

89 Der goldene Schatz aus dem 

dreissigjUhrigen Krieg v. E. 
A. Konig 

90 Das Fraulein von St. Arna- 

ranthe von R. von Gottschall 

91 Der Fiirst von Montenegro v. 

A. Winterfeld 

92 Um ein Herz von E. Falk 

93 Uarda von Georg Ebers 

94 In der zwSlften Stunde von 

Fried. Spielhagen und Ebbe 
und Fluth von M. Widdern... 

95 Die von Hohenstein von Fr. 

Spielhagen. Erste Halfte. . 

95 Die von Hohenstein von Fr. 

Spielhagen. Zweite Halfte.. 

96 Deutsch und Slavischv. Lucian 

Herbert 

97 Im Hause des Commerzien- 

Raths von Marlitt 

98 Helene von H. Wachenhusen 

und Die Prinzessin von Por- 
tugal V. A. Meissner 

99 Aspasia von Robert Hammer- 

ling 

100 Ekkehard v. Victor v. Scheffel 

101 Ein Kampf um Rom v.F.Dahn. 

Erste Halfte 

101 Ein Kampf um Rom v.F.Dahn. 

Zweite H&lfte 

102 Sninoza von Berth. Auerbach . 

103 Von der Erde zum Mond von 

J. Verne 

104 Der Todesgruss der Legionen 

von G. Samarow 

105 Reise um den Mond von Julius 

Verne 


106 Fiii'st und Musiker von Max 

Ring 20 

107 Nena Sahib v. J. Retcliffe. Er- 

ster Band 20 

107 Nena Sahib von J. Retcliffe. 

Zvvei ter Band 20 

107 Nena Sahib von J. Retcliffe. 

D fitter Band 20 

108 Reise nach dem Mittelpunkte 

der Erde von Julius Verne 10 

109 Die silberne Hochzeit von S. 

Kohn 10 

110 Das Spukehaus von A. v. Win- 

terfeld 20 

111 Die Erben des Wahnsinus von 

T. Marx 10 

112 Der Ulan von Job. van Dewall 10 

113. Um hohen Preis v. E. Werner 20 

114 Schwarzwalder Dorfgeschich- 

ten von B. Auerbach. Erste 
Halfte 20 

114 Schwarzwalder Dorfgeschich- 

ten V. B. Auerbach. Zweite 
Halfte 20 

115 Reise um die Erde von Julius 

Verne 10 

116 Casars Ende von S. J. R. 

(Schluss von 104) 20 

117 Auf Capri von Carl Detlef 10 

118 Severa von E. Hartner '' 20 

119 Ein Arzt der Seele von Wilh. 

V. Hillern 20 

120 Die Livergnas von Hermann 

Willfried 10 

121 Zwanzigtausend Meilen un- 

term Meer von J. Verne 20 

122 Mutter und Sohn von August 

Godin lO 

123 Das Haus des Fabrikanten v. 

Samarow 20 

124 Bruderpflicht und Liebe von 

Schucking 10 


125 Die Rdmerfahrt der Epigonen 

V. G. Samarow. Erste Halfte 20 

125 Die Romerfahrt der Epigonen 

V. G. Samarow. ZweiteHalfte 20 

126 Porkeles und Porkelessa von 


J Scherr 10 

127 Ein Friedeusstoi'er von Victor 

Bliithgen und Der heimliche 
Gast von R. Byr 20 

128 Schone Frauen v. R. Edmund 

Hahn lO 

129 Bakchen und Th 5 'rsostrager 

von A. Niemann 20 

130 Getrennt. Roman von E.Polko 10 

131 Alte Ketten. Roman von L. 

Sch licking 20 

132 Ueber die Wolken v. Wilhelm 

Jensen 10 

133 Das Gold des Orion von H. 

Rosenthal-Bonin 10 

134 Um den Halbmond von Sama- 

row. Erste Hfi,lfte 20 

134 Um den Halbmond von Sama- 

row. ZweiteHalfte 20 

135 Troubadour - Novellen von P. 

ilevse 10 


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DIE DEUTSCHE LIBRARY. 


186 Der Schweden-Schatz von H. 

Wachenhusea 20 

187 Die Bettlerin vom Pont des 

Arts und Das Bild des Kaisers 
von Wilh. Hauff 10 

188 Modelle. Hist. Roman von A. v. 

Winterfeld 20 

189 Der Krieg um die Haube von 

Stefanie Keyser 10 

140 Numa Roumestan v. Alphonse 

Daudet 20 


141 Spatsommer. Novelle von C. 

von Sydow und Engelid, No- 
velle V. Balduin Mdllhausen 10 

142 Bartolomaus von Brusehaver 

u. Musma Cussalin. Novellen 
von L. Ziemssien 10 

143 Ein gemeuchelter Dichter. Ko- 

rnischer Roman von A. von 
Winterfeld. Erste Halfte. . . . 20 

143 Ein gemeudhelter Dichter. Ko- 

mischer Roman von A. von 
Winterfeld. Zweite Halfte.. 20 

144 Ein Wort. Neuer Roman von 


G. Ebers 20 

145 Novellen von Paul Heyse 10 

146 Adam Homo in Versen v. Pa- 

ludan-Miiller 20 

147 Ihr einziger Bruder von W. 

Heimburg, 10 

148 Ophelia. Roman von H. von 

Lankenau 20 

149 Nemesis v. Helene v. Hiilsen 10 

150 Felicitas. Histor. Roman von 

F. Dahn 10 

151 Die Claudier. Roman v. Ernst 

Eckstein 20 

152 Eine Verlorene von Leopold 

Kompert 10 

153 Luginsiand. Roman von Otto 

Roquette 20 

154 Im Banne der Musen von W. 

Heimburg 10 

155 Die Schwester v. L. Schiicking 10 

156 Die Colonie von Friedrich Ger- 

stacker 20 

157 Deutsche Liebe. Roman v. M. 

Miiller 10 

158 Die Rose von Delhi von Fels. 

Erste HSlfte 20 

158 Die Rose von Delhi von Fels. 

Zweite Halfte 20 

1.59 Debora. Roman von W. Muller 10 

160 Eine Mutter v. Friedrich Ger- 

stacker 20 

161 Friedhofsblume von W. von 

Hillern 10 

162 Nach der ersten Liebe von K. 

Frenzel 20 

168 Gebannt u. erlost v. E. Werner 20 

164 Uhlenhans. Roman von 1 ried. 

Spielhagen 20 

165 Klytia. Roman von G. Taylor. 20 

166 Mayo. Erzahlung v. P. Lindau 10 

167 Die Herrin von Ibichstein von 

F. Henkel 20 

168 Die Saxoborussen von Sama- 

row. Erste 20 


168 Die Saxoborussen von Sama- 

row. Zweite Halfte 

169 Serapis. Roma.iv. G. Ebers . 

170 Ein Gottesurtheil. Roman von 

E. Werner 

173 Die Kreuzfahrer. Roman von 

Felix Dahn 

172 Der Erbe von Weidenhof von 

F. Pelzeln 

173 Die Reise nach dem Schicksal 

V. Franzos 

174 Villa Schonow. Roman v. W. 

Raabe 

175 Das VermSchtniss V. Eckstein. 

Erste Halfte 

175 Das Vermachtniss v. ^kstein. 

Zweite Halfte 

176 Herr und Frau Bewer von P. 

Lindau 

177 Die Nihilisten von Joh. Scherr 

178 Die Frau mit den Karfunkel- 

steinen von E. Marlitt 

179 Jetta. Von George Taylor 

180 Die Stieftochter. Von J. Smith 

181 An der Heilquelle. Von Fried. 

Spielhagen 

182 Was der Todtenkopf erzShlt, 

von Jokai 

183 Der Zigeunerbaron, von Jokai 

184 Himmlische u. irdische Liebe, 

von Paul Heyse 

185 Ehre, Roman v O. Schubin... 

186 Violanta, Roman v. E. Eckstein 

187 Nemi, Erzahlung von H. Wa- 

chenhusen 

188 Strandgut, von Joh. v. Dewall. 

Erste Halfte 

188 Strandgut, von Joh. v. Dewall. 

Zweite Halfte 

189 Homo sum, Roman von Georg 

Ebers 

190 Eine Aegyptische KOnigstoch- 

ter, von Georg Ebers. Erste 
Halfte 

190 Eine Aegyptische Kdnigstoch- 

ter, von Georg Ebers. Zweite 
Halfte 

191 Sanct Michael, von E. Werner. 

Erste Halfte 

191 Sanct Michael, von E. Werner. 

Zweite Halfte 

192 DieNilbraut, von Georg Ebers. 

Erste Halfte 

192 DieNilbraut. von Georg Ebers. 

Zweite Halfte 

193 DieAndere, von W. Heimburg 

194 Ein armes Madchen, von W. 

Heimburg 

195 Der Roman der Stif tsdame, von 

Paul Heyse 

196 Kloster Wendhusen, von W. 

Heimburg 

197 Das Vermachtniss Kains, von 

Sacher-Masoch. Erste Haifbe 

197 Das Vermachtniss Kains, von 

Sacher-Masoch.ZweiteHaifte 

198 Frail Venus, von Karl Frenzel 


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DIE DEUTSCHE LIBRARY. 


199 Eine Viertelstunde Vater, von 

F. W. Hackifinder 10 

200 Heimatklang, von E. Werner. . 10 

201 Herzenskrisen, von W. Heim- 

burg 20 

202 Die Schwestern, von G. Ebers,, 20 

203 Der Egoist, von E. Werner 10 

204 Salvatore, von E. Eckstein 20 

205 Lumpenmiillers Lieschen, von 

W. Heimburg 20 

206 Das einsame Haus, von Adolf 

Streckfus 20 

207 Die verlorene Handschrift, von 

G. Freytag. Erste Halfte. . . 20 

207 Die verlorene Handschrift, von 

G. Freytag. Zweite Halfte.. 20 

208 Das Euleuhaus, von E. Marlitt 20 

209 Des Herzens Golgatha, von H. 

Wachenhusen 20 

210 Aus dem Leben meiner alten 

Freundin, von W. Heimbnrg 20 

211 Die Gred, von G. Ebers. Erste 

Halfte 20 

211 Die Gred, von G. Ebers. Zweite 


213 Asbein, von Ossip Schubin 20 

214 Die Alpenfee, von E. Werner. . 20 

215 Nero, von E. Eckstein. Erste 

Halfte 20 

215 Nero, von E. Eckstein. Zweite 

Halfte 20 

216 Zwei Seelen, von R. Lindau 20 

217 Manover- u. Kriegsbilder, von 

Joh. von Dewall 10 

218 Lore von Tollen, von W. Heim'- 

burg 20 

219 Spitzen, von P. Lindau 20 

220 Der Referendar, von E. Eck- 

stein 10 

221 Das Geiger-Evchen,von A.Doni 20 

222 Die Gotterburg, von M. Jokai 20 

223 Der Kronprinzund diedeutsche 

Kaiserkrone, von G. Freytag 10 

224 Nicht ira Geleise, von Ida Boy- 

Ed 20 

225 Camilla, von E. Eckstein 20 

226 Josua, eine Erzahlung aus bib- 

lischer Zeit, von G. Ebers 20 

227 Am Belt, von Gregor Samarow 20 

228 Henrik Ibsen’s Gesammelte 

Werue. Erster Band 20 

229 In geistiger Irre, von H. Kohler 20 


Halfte 20 

212 Trudchens Heirath, von Wilh. 

Heimburg 20 


Ein schoner ausgearbeiteter Catalog, enthaliend eine alphabetische List, 
wird von Georgb Munro fiir 10 cents an alle Adi essen versendet. 

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wird gegen 12 Cents fiir einfache Nummern, Oder 25 Cents fiir Doppelnum- 
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die Post bittet man nach Nummern zu bestellen. 

P, O. Box 3751* 17 to *27 Vnndewater Street, New York. 


THE ART OF HOUSEKEEPING. 

BY MARY STUART SMITH. 

WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED COVER. 

PRICE *25 CENTS. 

A thoroughly practical book on housekeeping by an experienced and 
celebrated housekeeper. Mrs. Smith is a capable and distinguished writer 
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ters contained in this work first appeared. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS : Beginning to Keep House— Ordering a Household- 
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A FEW DAYS AMONG 

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MUNRO*S PUBLICATIONS. 


The New York Fashion Bazar Book of the Toilet. 

PRICE 25 CENTS. 

This is a little book which we can recommend to every lady for the Preserva- 
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arts and mysteries of personal decoration, and for increasing the natural 
graces of form and expression. All the little affections of the skin, hair, eyes 
and body, that detract from appearance and happiness, are made the sub- 
jects of precise and excellent recipes. Ladies are instructed how to reduce 
their weight without injury to health and without producing pallor and weak- 
ness. Nothing necessary to a complete toilet book of recipes and valuable 
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The New York Fashion Bazar Book of Etiquette. 

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a complete hand-book of behavior : containing all the polite observances of 
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tations to dinners, evening parties and entertainments of all descriptions; 
table manners, etiquette of visits and public places; how to serve breakfasts, 
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THE NEW YORK FASHION BAZAR 

Model Letter-Writer and Lovers’ Oracle. 

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the best society have been carefully follow’ed. It is an excellent manual of 
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